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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057341">Killer Image</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/freelance_writes11/pseuds/freelance_writes11'>freelance_writes11</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Disney - All Media Types, Disney Cartoons (Classic), Original Work, Oswald (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1950s, Cartoon Physics, Character Death, Disney, Drama, Forgotten Toons, Gen, Inspired by Disney, Mystery, One of My Favorites, Original Fiction, Psychological Drama, Scandal, Slow Build, Thriller</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:54:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/freelance_writes11/pseuds/freelance_writes11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The famous “resentment” Oswald the Lucky Rabbit harbors for Mickey Mouse turns into a heated fight for his freedom and name when scandal after scandal of the nice guy shocks the world – and all fingers point toward the rabbit for foul play.</p><p>But if so many higher-ups got their finger on the pulse of red hot, searing Toon drama, certainly the faded stars have enough to say to clear the muck off of Oswald’s good name. Right?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mickey Mouse &amp; Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, Ortensia/Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit &amp; Other(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. “Happiest” Place on Earth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/raffikki/gifts">raffikki</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundtales/gifts">profoundtales</a>.</li>



    </ul><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A special story gift for two of my greatest friends who got me through stir crazy quarantine and made our book club meetings and late-night summer crackhead sessions even more meme-tastic. Love you both so much! And happy, happy birthday Raf! 🎂 🎉 💞</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was unseasonably hot that summer of ‘55. The orange gloves and walnut trees in Anaheim fell prey to a designing heat, their plights lovingly laughed at by helicopters roaring overhead and cars parked by the thousands. The people and eyes around the world were only focused on those 160-acres in Anaheim to welcome the world’s most fabulous kingdom – all wrapped in whimsy and inflated by some bright, witty songs.</p><p>And, as Hank Weaver had warmly announced, “you are guests.”</p><p>Drink in the sights, Disneyland invited. Gather some facts at the Theater House and view the model of the park’s opening day.</p><p>People watch, Disneyland laughed. See the pure elation on everyone’s face who are experiencing this magic for the first time.</p><p>Disneyland is your land, Walt Disney promised. A safe sense of childish wonder and imagination. A real cavalcade of characters. It’s a happy place. A real place, and the nearest and dearest thing to your heart.</p><p>Oswald kept his eyes narrowed in expired fascination on the television. It dug a hole in his stomach, seeing the creator in one of the greatest manmade parades he’d ever seen.</p><p>Disney drove up the street way, sitting with Governor Goodwin J. Knight and his wife Virginia, in the Grand Marshall’s 1903 Pierce-Arrows and compassionately smiled and waved at his Hollywood public. Up on the second floor of Main Street by the Eastman Kodak Camera Shop, Art Linkletter and his son Jack were looking down at the United States Marine Band coming up.</p><p>Linkletter, reporting the sights after the color guard had passed, spirited the non-television watchers to safety with his marveled surprise:</p><p>Look! Snow White sitting with the seven dwarfs on a parade float, waving like a crowned-and-sashed Miss Los Angeles to the kids in the crowd, all specially invited. You’ll fly with Peter Pan and maybe even Wendy over moonlit London if you can catch them, skipping hand-in-hand, while Dumbo, Pluto, and Donald Duck cavort up and down the street. There’s another float, do you see in the distance, the golden coach for Cinderella and Prince Charming on his white horse carrying her glass slipper. Now here comes the Frontierland, and of course who would be up there in the front but Davey Crockett and his mounted scouts.</p><p>A <em>real</em> all-star parade of characters for the introduction of Disneyland.</p><p>Oswald rested his head in his paws and lowered his reddened eyes to the carpet, then back up to look at the dashing Bob Cummings in a deluxe suit.</p><p>“Standing here has been one of the most exciting moments of my life. I think, ladies and gentlemen, that anyone who’s been here today will say, as the people did many years ago when they were at the opening of the Eiffel Tower, ‘I was there.’” There was a momentary dazzle of pride in Cumming’s face that made Oswald scoff. “I’m very proud to say I was at the opening of Disneyland. It’s a fabulous thing to happen, ladies and gentlemen.”</p><p>There was a growl that forced its way deep from the rabbit’s throat. He could barely hear the people chattering behind Cummings or the sponsors asking to wait just one minute until the exciting trip to Frontierland, the Old West, and Davey Crockett came after commercials. All Oswald felt, all he knew was he didn’t want to be friendly with anyone at all right now because then he wouldn’t have to tire himself out, it’d be a lot safer, easier on his heart.</p><p>Disneyland. <em>Pfft, so what?</em> It was 16-degrees higher than it should have been for July. Who wanted to stand around, without water, waiting on another boring theme park to let them in? There was plenty to do around Toontown and Los Angeles.</p><p>Another Pepsi commercial failed to keep Oswald distracted or any less bothered. He felt he would’ve gotten a better reaction telling the folks at home to save themselves, don’t go to Disneyland, and do what he was going to do soon:</p><p>Retreat to the dim of his bedroom with the curtains drawn like any normal Toon, waiting for a sleepy stupidity in the sweet relief of the night air.</p><p>“I feel like we missed out in all of spring.”</p><p>Oswald jumped. “Ortensia! I thought I told you to lie down and rest.”</p><p>“You did. You just didn’t tell me how long to lie down for.” There was a hint of victory in the cat’s closed-eye smile as she leaned over for a hug. She squeaked, prompting Oswald to do the same, when she’d gotten a kick under the curve of her tummy. “Really, I’m fine,” she added with a laugh.</p><p>“But you might have another spell. I just want to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible.”</p><p>With gentle urgency, Oswald guided Ortensia around the couch and into the comfiest chair she couldn’t get out of without help. That would give him time to fetch her medicine, get her some milk and cookies, maybe a magazine and another pillow.</p><p>“Oswald—”</p><p>“Is it time? Do you feel funny? What do you need?”</p><p>A small smile crept onto Ortensia’s face and her cheeks painted themselves rose red at Oswald’s excitement. “Just a kiss.” When his lips touched her forehead, their fingers locked and settled together on the expecting belly. “I can’t remember any other time you’ve made yourself so dizzy for me. You’ll get sick if you keep it up.”</p><p>Oswald curled up next to her and got her giggling with just a few delicate touches of his paw. “I’ll happily run a high fever if it means you’ll have our children well and in good spirit.”</p><p>He brushed Ortensia’s tufted fur to see her eyes and felt immediate bliss with their noses wriggling together.</p><p>“Silly. I want you to enjoy the rest of your Sunday,” Ortensia said softly.</p><p>“I’m already enjoying it. I couldn’t think of a better place to spend it.”</p><p>As bad as interruptions were, the television’s had to have been the worst one Oswald ever heard. The poundings of a war drum, blended with whimsical music, made him hop out of his skin and crash to the floor. The transparent film of Tinker Bell was layered over a more solid card announcing Frontierland, with two hunting rifles crossing over one another as the pixie tiptoed across the screen as if she were hunting.</p><p>Oswald powered down the box in a huff. “Who needs television on a Sunday anyway?”</p><p>“You do.” Ortensia shook her head away from another kiss and crossed her arms. “I read it all in the paper. It’s a very big day for Mr. Disney and it’s something he wants all of his friends to come to and enjoy.”</p><p>“Sure, open a great big amusement park on the day you’re going to have a baby, why don’t’cha? What lousy planning! He might as well throw an unmistakable Hollywood party on our anniversary, huh?”</p><p>“Now Oswald, that’s not funny and that’s not what I meant.” Ortensia switched the live coverage back on. “You were invited to a very nice event and you’re being rude by not going and wishing Mr. Disney any luck. What will he think of you?”</p><p>Oswald forced a laugh and shut off the black-and-white tube with more force than he intended, gruffly adding a “leave it off” over his shoulder as he crossed over to the kitchen.</p><p>The minute his feet hit the cool linoleum tiles, his temper sizzled and eventually frosted over. He crossed his arms tight across his chest as if to keep the foul mood bottled up and lukewarm, but when he started gnawing on where his thumbnail would be and began pacing, he knew it would just drain him to keep being upset.</p><p>He didn’t like staying angry and he didn’t want to be angry; not on a day like this, not to Ortensia, and especially not to himself. Sure, he was proud of Disney and what his team had accomplished in just a year and a day, and he was absolutely ecstatic that children and adults alike could enjoy a magical kingdom and see Toons up close instead of behind a television set.</p><p>
  <em>But…but…but what? Or am I just being silly?</em>
</p><p>As if the ghost of an argument had never happened, Ortensia was there behind him. Oswald gave a pretty violent start and when he turned to smile, a gesture meant to reassure and give confidence, he knew that Ortensia knew something was amiss. She seemed to be ignoring it though and lightly tugged the corners of his mouth up with her fingers.</p><p>“I know he wants you there,” she said quietly and presented her own tiny encouraging smile. “I want you there, too. So go.”</p><p>“But Ortensia—”</p><p>“The doctor will be there if I start to feel funny, Fanny’s a couple blocks away, and I can always call Daddy or Homer to come check up on me. You can’t be in where I am, anyway. All you can do is sit and worry.”</p><p>“I know, I know. But I want you to know that I <em>am</em> sitting there worrying.” Oswald pressed his head in a little closer, not needing another kiss or even a hug. He just wanted to hear her. “I want you to feel that I’m near.”</p><p>“Oh Oswald…” Ortensia’s nose tickled his, but she pulled away as soon as he’d felt it. “Go on. They’re waiting for you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Again, happy birthday Raf!! 🎊 🎁 💛</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Dizzy At Disney</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aside from seeing Bob Cummings smooching a dancer near Frontierland, nothing was out of the ordinary on the theme park grounds. The sun seemed to be trapped in the narrow streets, and even in the shadows the heat still lingered. Julys were one of those months when a neckerchief wasn’t such a bad idea – a day when sweat would stick to your forehead, your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, and run in rivers down your face but you could easily wipe it and cool off.</p><p>It was half past eleven and the unusually high 101°F continued to beat down with unrestrained brutality. Mickey didn’t have time to hop in the shade. He had to keep smiling and running and laughing. He hadn’t gotten a chance to say hi to Chip and Dale after the parade or properly bow when Princess Aurora and Prince Philip pranced by on their way to Fantasyland.</p><p>And as bighearted and noticeable of a man he was, Mickey hadn’t once run into Walt all morning. He was kind of glad; he had gone mute from the dry air and would occasionally watch his hands shake in a way he couldn’t control. He couldn’t greet his Father like that.</p><p>Walt was bubbling with boyish pride and excitement on live television, up to his neck on the black-and-white screen flashing his pearly whites and greeting all the children, and all Mickey could do was loop his thumbs through his shorts pocket and look cheerful whenever the cameras (or the strewn television camera cables) caught him.</p><p>But still, in the haze of the day, Anaheim was not selfish and passed along the joy of Disneyland’s grand opening. Unless you were the most jaded and unhappy person on earth who couldn’t handle any kind of escapism, there was something for everyone to find that they could enjoy and appreciate.</p><p>If Mickey climbed on one of the tarps and stood on his toes, he could spot the main gate easily in the distance, with the large crowds slowly but surely moving in. He could watch the restlessness grow on children’s faces as they inched forward in line, or spot their joy when their favorite character flowed by. Fluttering music swirled from outside the high gates, guiding folks to a place of freedom, adventure, and exploration, and an occasional squeal split the air from those on the carousel.</p><p>This was it. This was what Walt Disney had promised. <em>Disneyland is your land</em>. A happy place. A real place, and the nearest and dearest thing to the heart.</p><p>“Mickey!”</p><p>And then there was that. It was happening again. That heart pounding moment that always made his stomach shake in nerves.</p><p>“Mickey, Mickey!”</p><p>“It’s Mickey Mouse!”</p><p>After his signature jolly chuckle, the mouse jumped up to hand out sprightly high-fives and ruffle a couple boys’ hair. “Hiya, everybody! Are you all enjoying Disneyland so far?”</p><p>Like an obedient choir, the group of children chorused out cheerful <em>yeses</em> and nodded excitedly.</p><p>“Oh, that’s just berries! What have you all been up to?”</p><p>Sharon Linkletter from the earlier interview smiled shyly. “I got to see Davey Crockett fight the Indians.”</p><p>“I had a sword fight with Captain Hook just now and won,” eleven-year-old Jack Meadows boasted, arms akimbo and face glowing with pride.</p><p>“Bob Cummings kissed my mommy!” Arnold Hewitt shouted and stuck his tongue out.</p><p>Mickey’s eyebrows curved up. He didn’t know whether to find the child’s naiveté charming or uneasy. After all, Cummings had given Mrs. Hewitt more than a friendly peck hello and both parties were married − with their opposite spouse roaming the park, at that! Then again, Arnold was only six and probably found it about as romantic as a gummy kiss from an aunt or grandmother on Christmas Day.</p><p>Mickey patted his head and smiled. “Bob Cummings is quite the charmer, isn’t he?”</p><p>“You think he’d kiss Minnie like that?” The oldest of the bunch, Jimmy Lott, suddenly asked.</p><p>“Where is Minnie? She’s always glued to your side,” Jack pointed out.</p><p>“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe she’s hiding over in Tomorrowland.” Mickey brought everyone in close. “She’s always wanted to take a cruise to the moon in the rocket ship. Think that’s a keen spot for a date?”</p><p>With hearts in her eyes, the smallest of the friends, Susie Lovett, cheered. “I think it’s lovely!”</p><p>“We’ll tell her we saw you and to come over right away,” Sharon promised. “C’mon guys, race you all to Tomorrowland!”</p><p>Mickey waved the group along as they called goodbye over their shoulders and felt his heart sigh along with him once they were out of earshot. He pressed both hands to his chest, shaking more from the heat and nerves, and watched all eight fingers eventually calm to a faint tremor.</p><p>Minnie had been “almost everywhere”, according to him. They’d been playing hide-and-seek, she was visiting Goofy, she had an important date in Wonderland, she was waiting at the theater for him. Anything to make sure she got a chance to cool off for a bit and have some privacy from the overwhelming crowd. He’d overheard her doing the same thing for him a couple times and had almost ruined the illusion over by Adventureland when a camera was mere seconds from turning and revealing “no, no, there is he!”</p><p>Mickey couldn’t remember a time he had run away so fast from the public. It was so strange; if someone recognized him on the streets, he wanted to smile and run and laugh over to greet them.</p><p>
  <em>But now…now, gosh, I hope I didn’t sound too lazy. Such nice kids.</em>
</p><p>“Where you goin’?” Mickey froze. “Oh, stay right there. I didn’t know where you− I thought I was gonna be run over here for a second!”</p><p><em>Run over?</em> Oh boy, just how long had he been in his thoughts to stumble into Tomorrowland?</p><p>A mile of super highway adventure stretched and sent up a disorientating haze around the aluminum bumpers and shiny governors in little gasoline-driven automobiles. Children with or without their parents were driving to their heart’s content at a steady 11mph, skimming by lakes, canals, and many other models of scenic features to make them feel like they were on the road.</p><p>And of course, the women drivers were given a little special space just as they were on the highway. A lot more celebrities were coming up; Gale Storm and Danny Thomas; Don DeFore; Jeanne Crain—</p><p>“Frank Sinatra! Hello Franco. Who’s driving?” Art Linkletter let out a chuckle of surprise. “Looks like I found Mickey’s sweetie – or rather, Frank Sinatra has.”</p><p>Well, who would’ve guessed? Mickey had told the children he had “lost” her somewhere in Tomorrowland, but he didn’t think his little white lie had a purple bowtie tied to it.</p><p>Minnie giggled into the microphone at whatever Linkletter told her next. “Fine! Wonderful to see you, Art!”</p><p>“Gee, the first car you can say you’ve ever driven was an Autopia at Disneyland. She must be a pretty swell gal if you’re letting her behind the wheel,” Linkletter added towards Sinatra.</p><p>“Oh, she’s a real gem,” Sinatra promised, his arm draped around her seat.</p><p>“Well, I won’t keep you. Carry on with your moving date before− oh, look who wants to chaperone! Sammy Davis Jr. folks, coming right down the track. Sammy, how are you?”</p><p>Mickey watched the play-cars chug along in their easy patterns and kept his eye on the polka-dotted ‘sweetie’, the ‘swell gal’, his Minnie Mouse who found it ‘wonderful’ to see Art and found it neat being able to drive her ‘first Autopia’ with Frank Sinatra. He supposed had he been whistling around with the invited and very lovely Donna Reed…</p><p>Oh gosh, no, he shouldn’t think like that! What was that all about? Where did that come from?</p><p>Mickey was not the jealous type. He liked to think he had a good enough love compass to be with someone as sweet, caring, and loyal as Minnie. And when at any point in time she threw him curveballs − laughing at other men’s jokes, going out late on a ‘girls night’, having rosy cheeks over her celebrity crushes − he’d play along accordingly.</p><p>They were all just harmless cues for Mickey to give and show her some attention. Even when it came to their mutual guy friends, there was only going to be so many times he could shrug off anything they said that sounded a little too fresh.</p><p>Besides, who was he standing next to Frank Sinatra?</p><p>“Mickey!”</p><p>There was that sound again. Oh, wait a minute.</p><p>In seconds, Mickey’s arms were full of Minnie and she had pressed a not so innocent kiss right on his lips, nearly knocking the wind out of him. She pulled him closer until there was no space left between them and nuzzled his nose, turning him into a blushing mess.</p><p>“I’m so glad I found you! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”</p><p>Mickey’s head was angled slightly to the side as Minnie chattered on, the inside of his chest fluttering, and then his arms suddenly encircled her and he drew her in so there wouldn’t be any more separating.</p><p>“Oh, you. I really shouldn’t keep you waiting, should I?” Minnie giggled, running her fingers along his shoulder.</p><p>“Nope. Or Frank Sinatra.”</p><p>“Huh? What about Frankie?”</p><p>“Nothing, nothing. He’s a very punctual guy, swell fella.” Mickey strolled down the end of Main Street with Minnie’s arm through his. “What have you been up to? I haven’t seen you since we walked through the parade.”</p><p>“Here and there, and around. Oh Mickey, isn’t this all so exciting? Isn’t everything so magical?”</p><p>“I’ll say.”</p><p>The rush of extravagance down Main Street − namely its ice cream parlor, penny arcade, drug store, and butcher shop − were all signposted in different directions until the couple reached the little hub at the end of the walkway promoting the four divisions of Disneyland. Along the plaza was every color that could tumble from a box of pastels.</p><p>In the sunlight they were soft no matter how bright the light became and always just as pleasing. With the theme park going full blast underneath the intense blue of the sky, Mickey figured it would take at least a week for a family to see all there was to see. He wasn’t sure how long Disneyland planned to keep its gates open, or if Walt had anything specially planned for a summer night, or how hotter Anaheim could get.</p><p>“Minnie?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Kiss me?”</p><p>A simple peck on the cheek left a little wet mark, so soft and with the smallest hint of coolness, but it felt too rushed and too loveless.</p><p>“Something wrong?” Mickey asked, seeing Minnie’s head turn and keep turning every which way.</p><p>“I don’t see Oswald. I thought he was invited, too. What do you suppose is keeping him?”</p><p>“Maybe he was busy, or just didn’t want to come.”</p><p>“Why wouldn’t he want to come? He’s just as much Walt’s friend as Walt is his.” Mickey stopped walking. “What is it?” He shook his head and held his arm out again, suggesting they revisit Tomorrowland. “Mickey, what is it? Is there something you’re not telling me? Where’s Oswald?”</p><p>He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know and telling the truth if he said he could care less. Gosh, did that make Mickey a bad person? How long was he supposed to speak with his Disney tongue around the rabbit before either got fed up? He wished he knew Oswald like the back of his glove, but he was just so difficult to understand − always so serious, and short-tempered, and old fashioned. He thought that having the moniker “lucky” would lead Oswald to many fortunate situations and color him happy.</p><p>With a slow, dry sigh, Mickey’s shoulders relaxed only slightly and he kept his gaze downwards near the dark clear shadows by his boots.</p><p>“Listen Minnie, I don’t think… What I don’t want right now is to, well, we shouldn’t spoil the mood here. It’s Disneyland! I’m sure whatever Oswald’s doing right now, he’s happy with it. Come on sweetie,” he added with his usual gusto, taking Minnie by the arm once more and giving her a warm smile. “Let’s see about that trip to the moon.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Little Buddy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With winter banished to memory, Buddy left his jacket hanging in the hall closet and walked out in a shirt louder than the new summer blooms. His cheeks radiated more warmth than the sun above and his work boots moved almost soundlessly over the sidewalk. His perked lips whistled, giving him a bounced stride down the road.</p><p>“Buddy, your lunch!”</p><p>A pair of high-heeled shoes hurried out of the two-story home, belonging to that of the Toon’s mother.</p><p>“You’re always forgetting it on the table,” Honey teasingly chastised as she handed over the checkered-clothed lunchbox. “What would I do if I knew you hadn’t eaten all day?”</p><p>Scarlet warmed over Buddy’s cheeks as he took the proffered box. “Gee Ma, thanks!”</p><p>“Now you head off to work and stay out of trouble. And don’t be late for supper.”</p><p>Buddy chuckled to himself as another shade of red, this from his mother’s lipstick, endearingly painted his cheek to say goodbye. He waved until she was safely back inside and sighed to himself:</p><p>“What would I do without her?”</p><p>All over again, he whistled and strolled through the little country that was a canvas for the seasons and sights, passing the smiling butcher with his sausage links on display and naked chickens hanging up; and the gifts and greeting card corner ready for more birthdays; and the small bank rumored to have been one of Scrooge McDuck’s first investments.</p><p>“Hi, Buddy!”</p><p>The boy paused at the blended voices of the Teleland twins and clapped the invited high-five of the bundling nine-year-old. “Hiya, Jim!” He grinned and hoisted the next running twin up and over a fire hydrant. “Hiya, Judy! Get home safe, okay?”</p><p>Just at the crosswalk of Rocky Road and Bullwinkle Avenue, Buddy caught sight of seven more Toons boarding an omnibus for work. He didn’t need to (and his mother would surely reprimand him if she found out), but like a cat burglar Buddy stuck to the protruding bender and fit one foot over the exhaust pipe, tapping to the beat of its belches and whistling a new tune for the change of scenery.</p><p>He caught the colors of the next town over, and it reminded him a lot of children’s toys. Every red was the sort of red shade cherries were in late summer, so bright and deep all at once. Every blue was a bright royal hue, neither too dark nor too light. Nothing was sun-bleached, scratched or chipped, and the buildings, borrowing this and that from another era, were unvandalized animations.</p><p><em>Boy, wouldn’t it be something to vacation here?</em> His conscience daydreamed right on schedule when the bus passed the heart of Toontown. But then his more practical side would bash it by reminding him, <em>A nice city like that costs money and you’ve gotta earn it.</em></p><p>“A fine day for Norwalk, folks!”</p><p>Buddy peeked around the rear at the call of the yellow automobile, watching some monochrome and two-strip technicolor Toons bundle off and into their respective buildings of work. He hopped down once the doors shut and circled to the front.</p><p>“Thanks for the ride, Ralph.”</p><p>One headlight flashed into focus and glanced up. “Anytime, Buddy. You know I always save you a window seat at 10:30? You’ll never see anything if you’re behind.”</p><p>“I can see what’s coming for me and be ready that way.”</p><p>Buddy dug around in his pockets for loose change, but Ralph shook a wheel at him. “Free of charge today,” he insisted. “I don’t do nights anymore, and you’ll need it to get back to your folks.”</p><p>“I’ll get you next time.” With a friendly wave and wink, Buddy took off. “Take care, Ralph!”</p><p>The omnibus honked and chugged off. “Bye-bye, Buddy!”</p><p>In the more exposed parts of the Acme District, sun and heat came all at once. Buddy brought a hand over his squint and weaved in and out of the human/cartoon morning rush, twisting past legs and hopping over briefcases. When he passed the outlandishly erect Acme Factory, he tipped his Derby hat in respect towards the plaque of the late Marvin Acme above the doors. He really wished he could have met the Gag King, shake his hand, then laugh until the cows came home when he got shocked with that famous Handbuzzer.</p><p>But Buddy knew Mister Acme was making all of the angels laugh up there, and that made him smile and breathe in the nice, clear, rich…thick and hazy, rancid as sewage air.</p><p>He bent over as sharply as if he’d been punched in the stomach and coughed the smoke out in much darker, near black rings. The gigantic pasty faces of three construction workers burst into cackles just a few feet away.</p><p>“Can’t take the heat, buddy?”</p><p>“Don’t choke out. There’s still work to be done.” </p><p>“’Ey bud, when’s your birthday? We oughta get the ol’ nelly some nice fancy cigars.”</p><p>Buddy let his smile widen into a brilliant grin that had the men snickering even louder. He was laughing with them now too, feeling absolutely breezy as he swapped his soft hat for a hardhat.</p><p>“Sorry fellas, I don’t smoke,” he proudly declined in his falsetto twang. “Haven’t ever in my life and don’t wanna start now. You all should quit while you’re ahead. Your smiles are the best thing when we all work together.”</p><p>Murray scratched at the bristles on his shaven-nicked muzzle. “Ya like it when we smile, pal?”</p><p>“I most certainly do!”</p><p>“The mook likes it when we smile. You hear that, Tommy-boy?”</p><p>“Ain’t he swell?” Thomas chuckled and roughly drew Buddy in by the shoulders. “Nothing makes us happier when we clock out and boss hands us our bread for the end of the week. It’s always the same double, that cheapskate. Wouldn’t it be neat if we saw triple for once? That’d certainly make me smile, friend.”</p><p>Murray nodded. “Me too, pal.”</p><p>Murray’s little brother, Maxwell, picked something out his teeth but added on beat, “Me three, <em>amigo</em>.”</p><p>Buddy looked at each grinning face, tapping the tips of his thumbs together and trying to whistle to calm his nerves, but the notes came out dry, shaky, and fell flat.</p><p>“Oh… G-golly guys,” he stuttered, tugging at his collar. “I don’t know what to say. I’d like to make you all happy, really, I would, but I’ve gotta eat and take the bus, and see that my Daddy and Ma are eating and taking the bus, too. I’d spare a buck, but we all can’t swindle and cheat the boss for innocent work. You fellas understand, right?”</p><p>Maxwell, Murray, and Thomas positively howled at the run-on, exploding as good as an Acme bomb and slapping their paws together.</p><p>“Big joke,” Murray spat, cigar smoke flaring out of his nostrils. “Why doesn’t the little <em>mancha</em> tell us what he really spends his money on after dark?”</p><p>Buddy’s mouth quirked up and a courtesy laugh shook out as he gently pushed his hands out in a <em>now-now</em> gesture. It didn’t seem to stop the advancing co-workers or sweeten their smirks into chummy grins. Buddy continued to step backwards until his foot slipped from under him and he was halfway stuck in a bucket full of cement. The trio whooped with laughter once more.</p><p>Thomas pointed and shook his head. “Guess that’s not the only gunk up his ass!”</p><p>The impromptu comedy bit crashed to a halt when the unmistakable shadow of the men’s boss loomed over them and wordlessly demanded they had better get to work or their own behinds would be on the hot seat. (And Buddy really hoped his wouldn’t be up first when all he could offer the big man was a nervous grin for half a minute and then accidentally thunked him with the cement bucket as he tried to pull it off.)</p><p>By 11:50 a.m., the construction union’s newest project stood in the open, balanced on steel girders and concrete slabs. Swarms of Toon men in hard hats, bulldozers, cement mixers, and towering above them all, a huge canary yellow crane surrounded the in-progress creation.</p><p>Buddy wasn’t entirely sure what they were making, but he was just grateful to be helping out. Once he had squeezed through the narrow iron girders and climbed the fifty rungs of the ladder, he could reach and touch all four sides of the crane’s support tower. With the control cabin directly above him through a trap door, he squeezed into the square metal box about the same size as a sit-in penny arcade game. He got comfy in the pilot’s chair, and with a stick by each arm, lowered and raised the hook to the equipment that needed a little more labor.</p><p>Even when he got back on the ground, Buddy kept moving at the same fast pace. Sweat and a sore back was a welcome addition, cooling and motivating him to work harder. It was only when his feet came to a stop at the 12:30 whistle for lunch that the wind showed him just how wet his clothes had gotten.</p><p>Buddy quickly wrung himself out and joined the guys on a high steel beam already listening to music from the vintage radio. He didn’t know if he’d be able to eat everything before the break was over. Not because he had been given a full lunch or because of heights, but because the view often jumped in front of his appetite.</p><p>It was absolutely marvelous. Fog-shawled cityscapes, out-of-the-way countryside and rolling green mountains, the tourist grabber Buena Park…</p><p>Buddy blinked and leaned forward. “Gee, what’s all the commotion way out there?”</p><p>“Some kinda grand opening for some Hollywood schmucks,” Maxwell grouched, smacking and spraying his lunch. “It ain’t special.”</p><p>“Dixieland, they’re calling it,” Murray added. “Heard it over the radio. That Walt guy’s invited rich bozos and all the greasy grinds and hacks with their Bachelor degrees he could find to cover it.”</p><p>Thomas clapped him on the shoulder and passed a beer. “I heard Bob Cummings made whoopee with a lady waiting in line.” Through his drunken wheeze, he managed to splutter, “His wife was invited, too!”</p><p>While the group laughed themselves silly, Buddy rested his chin in his hands and dared to lean out a little more. If he focused just right, he could make out musical peals of laughter from boys and girls, bright and cheerful like dandelions in the field. He could almost see a yellow-and-pink bubble protectively circling the wonderland as sunbeams broke through the clouds, coloring a soaring, pastel-tinted fairy castle in even more sparkles and joy.</p><p>Buddy broke into a wide smile and dreamily wondered what exactly this Dixieland was. A carnival? A circus? Would it be like Buena Park?</p><p>“It sounds like a real barrel of fun! We should visit tonight,” he suggested.</p><p>Thomas snorted. “Heard that Mickey got to handpick the guests, and if you ain’t Disney, don’t hold your breath.” He tossed the empty beer bottle in the far-off direction of the event. “Jackass!”</p><p>Buddy wanted to say something more, but the squeals of the one o’clock whistle rang in his ears and the boss started barking up to them to get back to work or else. One by one, Maxwell, Murray, and Thomas mumbled a few drunken-influenced suggestions before slowly clamoring down. Buddy was one step ahead of them and shimmied down one of the railings, jumping in front of the three before either could split up.</p><p>“Come on fellas, where are those smiles?” The three black-and-white Toons offered the opposite. “Say, they’ve gone missing. I’ll bet we’ll find them over at this Dixieland. Whaddya say? Tonight we go and have a gay ol’ time! Who knows – we may even see Mickey and have a little chat with him. Won’t that be fun?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Read Between the Lines</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I couldn’t resist. Special Labor Day delivery checked, shipped, and delivered! *tips hat* Updates will continue every Friday. Please enjoy! 😊</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>WALT DISNEY’S SECOND OPENING DAY IS A ‘REAL GASSER’</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Just a year and a day ago, bulldozers began to push over the orange trees to clear the 160-acres for Walt Disney’s profitable, fabulous playground − Disneyland. At ten o’clock this morning, the fire brigade had to disregard the by-invitation-only policy and covered around a mile and a half perimeter of Disneyland to inspect the mysterious sequel of a gas leak near Fantasyland, which caused said attraction, as well as Adventureland and Frontierland, to shut down prematurely.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Southern California had just suffered from a record heat wave with temperatures of over a 100 degrees Fahrenheit on the previous Sunday, July 17. A reported plumbers’ strike left many of the park’s drinking fountains dry, rides broke down shortly after opening, and restaurants and refreshment stands ran out of food and drink.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Disney was unaware about all the things that were going wrong. His attention was consumed by the ‘Dateline Disneyland’ live broadcast by ABC, and it wasn’t until Monday today that he became aware of the press accounts of what had happened on the Grand Opening.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I wanted to make amends and invite back the press for a private second day to experience the true Disneyland,” 53-year-old Disney commented after evacuation. “My men and I were going to immediately take the necessary measures to deal with the problems. We’re grateful the fire department was able to deal with this problem first.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The California Public Utilities Commission and the Toontown Public Service Commission are going to be performing hourly leak and corrosion inspections throughout the day.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“We don’t encourage any panic,” lead contractor of TPSC, Han D. Mann, advised. “While these sorts of events are rare, we always take care of them. We estimate an A-Okay from the state for Walt’s second-day reopening to the press at about 5:30 p.m.”</em>
</p><p>Words appeared and disappeared as Oswald’s eyes flitted across the pages, quickly picking out anything of importance from the jumble of sentences on the black and white strips. He scoffed, thinking to himself just how money-minded Walt was to still go through with promoting the park after the extremely negative press from the preview opening.</p><p>Yesterday had been fine, but today the world was a gabble of nonsense and he could feel his energy leaving him like an ink stain into blotting paper. He had read the front-page news in stony silence at the breakfast table, his nose smooshed to the pages, and with the snarls and barks of his grumpiness refusing to leave him be, he had gone out to buy another paper. Any social interaction would be annoying and he’d risk losing his temper, but then he thought, well, maybe tomorrow his mood would lighten up.</p><p>The reading peace was shattered by hordes of bunny children running and screaming with delight. They whooped into the warm air, their blue fur garish against the old and heavy town colors of black, gray, and white. Every head turned and a rare dog yipped in fright.</p><p>Oswald ducked his head from several grouchy stares thrown his way and tried to grab one of the kids. He hated crossing through Fantasmagorie County. The older and much stricter Traditional Toons belonging to the mute period had the peculiarity to not produce any sound since the community was founded in 1908, therefore their home neighborhood was completely silent.</p><p>Most of the residents were used to Oswald passing through, but they hated whenever he would bring any one of his Oswald Juniors. Normally Ortensia would want the kids to stay behind whenever she would do the shopping, but with her expecting and needing rest, it wasn’t odd to see the daddy with their bundles of joy.</p><p>Even if it meant bringing all fifteen out of the house at once.</p><p>The bunnies’ eyes were alight, every muscle in them needing to move and jump. They chattered and giggled and joked about anything Davey Crockett, and Oswald was regretting all over again letting them stay up past nap time to watch that hour-long episode back in December. For one month straight, he had heard nothing but “The Ballad of Davey Crockett” at the dinner table and across the hall when one of the kids would mumble in their sleep.</p><p>Oswald grabbed for an arm and missed, instead colliding square into a mailbox. He could hear the boys arguing over who would play Davey Crockett, George Russell, the Indians, Major General Andrew Jackson, and the bear Crockett killed with just a knife. He sprung up towards a stubby leg teetering dangerously close to the edge of a parked car but wound up with a face full of exhaust as it trudged off in time to the child hopping off. Oswald’s ear twitched. The boys’ voices were growing louder on the Traditional Toons’ sensitive ears, and they were beginning to steam and glare harder at him.</p><p>Telling his sons to sit still was like telling a fire not to burn, but with the loud promise of a slice of carrot cake before lunch, Oswald was able to shepherd his racing juniors out of the silent county and into the more compromising Terry Town County – where sound was welcome in the monochromatic zone. His eyes returned to the newspaper as his children marched single file behind him.</p><p>
  <em>While these couple of setbacks were not on Disney’s agenda, he has not neglected his high hopes of scheduling “The Mickey Mouse Club” for the autumn. The television program will be an hour-long, five-a-week children’s newsreel in which Mickey Mouse will be master of ceremonies. A special discussion of hosting alongside Jimmie Dodd is currently pending between Dodd and Disney, and Disney aims to provide short segments that encourage young viewers to make the right moral choices.</em>
</p><p>On the front, bright in the early morning light was the only colored ink, just a splash to give the headlines a more modern vibe. Mickey popped out of a circle of words spelling out “The Mickey Mouse Club!” He was grinning from ear to ear at the camera, his arms out wide for a hug and gloved hands looking sweet and comical. He was praised in the middle of bad news for Disneyland and rewarded when they needed another popular name out there.</p><p>Oswald’s mouth scrunched and his eyebrows arched. How could he think of a brand-new show at a time like this? Walt was being hounded to live up to his promise to show the world the “true Disneyland” after a disastrous first day, and here Mickey was posing for a silly little cartoon that wasn’t due for another two months. Just thinking about it made Oswald’s fingers curl and slowly shred the newspaper in half.</p><p>“Dad.”</p><p>Oswald jumped and glanced down at his fourth junior, the background sinking into his eyes. Right, he had made it back to the house, Ortensia was fine, the kids were (slightly) behaving, he had grouched all the way to the kitchen table to re-read the 376 printed words…</p><p>“Dad?”</p><p>“Huh? Oh, uh, yes son? What’s the matter?”</p><p>“Aunt Minnie’s here.”</p><p>The bunny children loved Minnie and usually ran to meet her like a drove of stampeded animals, but on this morning, they all remained huddled by the windows, noses twitching in curiosity. It wasn’t until Ortensia rushed to greet her at the door that Oswald found out why his kids were suddenly so shy.</p><p>The Toon hugging Minnie’s arm wasn’t Mickey, but another monochromatic boy. He was a bit on the short side but healthily filled and glowing for his age of creation. He removed his hat as Ortensia invited him inside and gazed around the apartment in interest. When he made eye contact with Oswald, he froze. His attention struck back to Minnie, who had gently touched his hand and brought him into the conversation.</p><p>Oswald was at first displeased that he hadn’t paid attention to a single word out of the girls’ mouths, but he was glad. He didn’t like the looks of this Toon. Not one bit.</p><p>“…very well should. I don’t see why they wouldn’t. Oswald, will you help me with the books?”</p><p>“Books? What books?”</p><p>Ortensia led him, completely puzzled and answerless, to the bedroom and gestured to at least ten of them lying face down on the bed in a ram-shackle order.</p><p>“Ortensia, what…what is all of this?”</p><p>“You take five and I’ll take five.”</p><p>Oswald scratched the side of his head and took a closer look. Some were darkened leatherback, the stitching was barely holding a few together, and others looked damp with gilded covers. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Ortensia or any of the children reading them, and he certainly would’ve remembered stumbling across at least one of them during spring cleaning.</p><p>“What is all of this?” Oswald tried asking again.</p><p>“Be careful with the red ones. They’re fragile.” Once again, Ortensia was dancing around the simple question.</p><p>She was already at the door with her share and stood beneath the threshold, waiting on Oswald with a smile. With no choice and growing tired of repeating himself, the rabbit hesitantly piled the rest of the books on top of one another and followed Ortensia out.</p><p>“Who is that guy with Minnie?” He whispered, using one of his ears to try and peek in the top hardback. It silently fell open with an avalanche of pages.</p><p>“Just a friend.” With those three words, Ortensia disappeared around the corner and the sounds of her and Minnie’s voices softly blended in the air.</p><p>Though he couldn’t make anything out aside from some girlish gossip, Oswald still kept an ear out in case he’d miss something more and began collecting the mess by his feet. The thin, oniony pages felt weird under his paws and they smelled warm and dusty, like the inside of an attic. Some page edges were browned and the blue-inked letters were faded, so much so that there was no telling how old they could be.</p><p>But perhaps the oddest piece of the puzzle was how none of the loose papers that had fallen contained any markers to tell where they belonged in the book.</p><p>They served more as notes and comments, and as Oswald peered closer to read them, surprise smacked him in the face to find most of the language wasn’t in English. He figured he had it in himself to leave them alone without as much as a backwards glance, especially after Ortensia called to him, but his nose was also twitching in curiosity. He pocketed a few and stuffed the rest back into the book before hurrying into the living room.</p><p>“You can put them right up here,” Minnie said, tapping the five books in the unnamed Toon’s arms.</p><p>Oswald slowly slid his pile on top, taking in as much of the character as he could. He had the standard pie-eyes like most Toons, but his gloves didn’t look too spiffy and prideful. He was very round in the tummy area, and his ears – <em>Monkey? Human?</em> – were very large and up in attention.</p><p>“Planning on doing some late night reading, Minnie?” Oswald asked.</p><p>“Oh no, not me. I’ve got a bit more errands to run today. I couldn’t possibly get to them in time. You could say I’ve got myself my own little bookworm.”</p><p>Ortensia smiled. “I hope you’ll get around to them yourself. They’re good reads. Will you tell Mickey the family all says ‘hello’?”</p><p>Minnie hugged her first, then kissed Oswald’s cheek. “You know my Mickey, he’s everywhere. Can’t miss him. Thank you for the books!”</p><p>“Take care, honey!” Ortensia called after her, and Oswald watched the pair leave without anything else to add.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The best typo I’ve seen all day:</p><p>“He removed his head as Ortensia invited him inside and gazed around the apartment in interest.”</p><p>Just imagining this Toon casually popping off his dome to observe the apartment had me weak for hours 🤣</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Book For Thought</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bookshop went unnoticed and stood on its own, tucked away as it was a street over from the Terry Town shopping mall. It was wedged between two taller buildings, looking squeezed as if the neighbors were closing in, but it was fairly large with white cedar shingles and blue shutters at the windows.</p><p>Minnie pushed open the heavy swing doors, allowing in light to filter soft blues, grays and browns around the hushed atmosphere. She walked closer to read the titles on the shelves crammed together, making out a few artistically-named stories, and when she went to remove one and switch on the nearest reading lamp, the tassel screeched.</p><p>Then with some kerfuffle, an odd Toon emerged in between the shelves dressed in a blue graduation cap and gown.</p><p>“Oh! Sir, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”</p><p>His yellow gloved hands rubbed furiously at the ends of his tassel-bound mustache, shaking and sniffing until it was evened out. He readjusted the cap at the corner of his lightbulb-shaped head and blinked his tiny black eyes up at the mouse who easily towered over him by a couple inches.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Minnie asked, gently touching his shoulder.</p><p>He snuffled once more, his face stern yet peaceful. “Quite alright, my dear. You gave me a fright there and certainly caught my attention.”</p><p>Minnie chirped out a timid giggle, cheeks dimpled with a smile. “Again, I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to. I thought you were a reading lamp.”</p><p>“No need to worry. Accidents will happen.” The Toon practically floated around the books as he spoke, dropping this, that and another into a messenger bag and writing on a pad of paper that kept appearing out of thin air. “Is there something I can assist you with, Miss?”</p><p>“I sure hope so. See, the owner of the shop telephoned and gave me this address. I’m in a bit of a pickle, and he told me you could help with…oh, well where are my manners? My name is Minnie Mouse.”</p><p>She could see the inquisitive-stirred waves in the man’s eyes. He came over in fast easy strides and took the offered hand in his two, shaking and squeezing and kissing. His arms were more ink than rubber hose under his long sleeves, and he introduced himself formally as Lucien Watson, giving his business title as the shop’s bookkeeper and advisor, and a former professor of Moldenhauer University.</p><p>“Very good to see you in person, my dear. And to reach such heights for this specific literature, I compliment you! Come, I believe I know exactly what you’re referring to.”</p><p>Lucien marched for a room tiled in chessboard with two windows open in the heat. It was far longer than it was wide, almost a corridor with shelving spanned on both sides. A small shuttered door, dull and spotted with age, opened on Lucien’s silent command.</p><p>The single desk in the room seemed like it would collapse any moment under the pressure of numerous books and files piled on top. All four walls of the room, Minnie gradually realized, were covered with more shelves, leaving only a small gap in the middle for the door. The carpet inside was flooded with essays, everything perfectly arranged and organized in neat rows.</p><p>And even then, the lightbulb profusely apologized.</p><p>“For the mess?” Minnie repeated, head tilted to the side.</p><p>“You’ll learn to grow accustomed to it, one way or another. Now about these books you had delivered for personal inspection?”</p><p>“I hope ten will be enough. I wasn’t sure which kinds you would need, but I was told not to worry—”</p><p>“Goodness…but one is never enough.” Lucien had flipped his cap off, marking a place on one of the Rabbits’ borrowed books and taking two more for each hand. “One could be stolen, and then what? Chaos in the district? Each is identical, but only one ever knows of the duplicates’ authentic location.”</p><p>He was mumbling to himself, absolutely serene. It was there in the rhythm of his movements and tapped out in the way his pencil scribbled over his returning notepad.</p><p>“Lucien, do you think we could go to another room?” Minnie gazed around at the six or seven Toons sitting at tables, working. “Someplace a bit more private?”</p><p>Lucien never looked up from the books and his hands never stopped writing. “My office has nothing to hide, and personally, neither do I,” he said.</p><p>His office! Was she even allowed inside in the first place so casually? Were the other Toons maybe assistants of his? But if it truly was Lucien’s office, why would there be so many things out in the open? Minnie never assumed the worst in someone until they showed her how their heart beat, but there could be some very dishonest Toons milling about.</p><p>She wouldn’t name names even if someone asked nicely, though she could confidently say she would never forget them and would not make the same mistake of wasting a smile on someone who didn’t even want it in the first place.</p><p>“Oh no, that isn’t what I meant,” Minnie finally said after jumping out of her thoughts. “I don’t want to disturb the others, that’s all.”</p><p>“They’re honest Toons, Miss Mouse, and so am I. You’ve nothing to worry about.”</p><p>It was like he had read her mind. She shivered and wrapped her stole around her arms tighter, a sudden biting cold chilling her fingers into a clumsy numbness. <em>You’ve nothing to worry about</em>. It was easier for Lucien to say than for Minnie to believe.</p><p>She still wasn’t pleased with herself for telling so many white lies all morning and afternoon. Honestly, there were so many “errands” she had to run before she got confused on where she needed to be. But what could she tell Oswald and Ortensia? They had been family and she didn’t want to slap a burden on them now. There was nothing to tell Walt, and even if she had the chance, he couldn’t listen.</p><p>“Lucien?” The bulb didn’t answer. “Um, well, I don’t want to keep you. I have to be on the next bus to Anaheim soon. I really hope Disneyland will be bandaged up by the time the gates open.” She chuckled sadly. “Have you heard the news?”</p><p>The constant sound of pencil scratching paper and pages turning echoed throughout the room. Minnie worried the hem of her skirt, trying not to pout. Lucien wasn’t necessarily being rude if he was doing his job, but she would have liked him to say something. Anything.</p><p>“I guess it’s just the worrywart in me hoping things get better. You seem like a calm and collected fellow. I envy you.”</p><p>The huge piles of books on the table cast a heavy shadow on Lucien, making him look almost spooky in the muffled stillness. Minnie’s sigh was like a softly deflating balloon, almost lost against the rustling of papers.</p><p>“About what you said about having nothing to hide in your office? I think I should tell you. I am trying to hide something.”</p><p>When Minnie glanced down, Lucien’s eyes rose.</p><p>“I’m not perfect. I fib and worry when I shouldn’t, and Mickey and I aren’t perfect, either. Sometimes we fight, sometimes we don’t and that’s when I wish we did.”</p><p>Minnie drew a circle in the carpet with her heel, shaking her head as her voice dropped.</p><p>“He was acting so strange on the Grand Opening, and now I don’t think he even wants to go to the second-day event. I always worry myself and no one else about it, but I think Mickey…”</p><p>The mouse swallowed hard and crossed her arms.</p><p>“M-my Mickey might be…gone.”</p><p>Minnie’s heart skipped a beat when Lucien’s hands were around hers. They were perfect, baby soft and smooth. Nobody had hands like that anymore, she thought. People had calluses and scars, red welts and grime from man’s work that no amount of washing would fix. But Lucien, he had the disciplinary air of a professor and the easy smile of one visiting a dear friend.</p><p>Minnie tensed momentarily before relaxing and smiling back. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to put this kind of bother on you.”</p><p>Lucien shook his head, and with a gleam in his eye suddenly quoted, “‘Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.’ Carl Gustav Jung.” He brought Minnie closer to his desk, gesturing to the pages he had bookmarked of the borrowed books. “Swell psychologist. He and his wife write to me every other fortnight. I believe their fourth child is off to a university by now in Italy. Wouldn’t an Italian villa do us all some good?”</p><p>Minnie stole a look at a few of them. The first pages in one began in the middle of a sentence, suggesting that either there was content missing or that there was another volume before it. Unfortunately, it appeared to be the oldest of the Rabbits’ leant book, and though it looked very well taken care of, it crinkled with age and held too many vague questions.</p><p>Lucien was still piloting to other topics with ease the more he showed her his work, and Minnie had to admit it was very strange how he was trying to distract her. If that was indeed what he was doing to begin with. It was even more strange how she wasn’t opposed to it. She didn’t even find it rude this time that when Lucien continued babbling about this and that, he silently flipped through other books and rummaged through the essays on the floor.</p><p>At one point Minnie did try to stop him. She tried to correct his reaction from what she had commented about Mickey, but after seeing and hearing so many beautiful things, however, Minnie shrugged and took the seat eventually offered to her.</p><p>Disneyland could wait. This Toon had stories to tell, and she stayed silent, just watching, not speaking.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Oh, For Pete’s Sake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh my goodness, ladies and gentlemen, friends and lovely readers, THANK YOU! This story has reached 141 Hits!!! 🍾 😍 🥂</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Cash for running errands” perhaps wasn’t the best title for the Wednesday advertisements, but with the summer yawning ahead of him and having to eat whatever his family scratched from the food bank, Buddy figured it was worth looking into.</p><p><em>It’ll be a cinch! What’s there to lose?</em> His conscience pointed out as he searched for his work hat. But then practicality tiptoed around the corner to whisper in his ear, <em>Well don’t be so sure. It ain’t fun walking down Easy Street with blisters from all those rejections.</em></p><p>Buddy shrugged at both thoughts and figured the worst that could be said by the fella who put the ad out was “no”. If he had enough workers under his belt or if Buddy didn’t cut the mustard, no sense in moping. He could find other part-time work. That would definitely give him an excuse to see Ralph more often in the mornings and a reason to stay out late.</p><p>When the cats came out to play. Me-ow—</p><p>“Ow-ow-ow!”</p><p>Buddy had tripped over the dog and down the flight of stairs, crashing into an end table with one of Honey’s flower vases. He caught it in time between his legs and whacked his head under the table when he tried to sit up. The large gray-and-brown patched Bloodhound bounded over, barking and laying on his haunches.</p><p>When the stars were out of orbit around his head, Buddy crossed his arms. “Bruno.” The dog sloppily licked his face, mussing up his ears. Buddy wrung them out only for it to be done again. “Bruno, down! You’re gonna make me all smelly.”</p><p>Bruno’s tongue, hanging out for a third lap, dangled sadly as his ears drooped from being shouted at. Seeing this, Buddy’s frown froze and he quickly brought the dog close to his side.</p><p>“Aw, I can’t stay mad at’cha boy.” He scratched behind his ears and Bruno happily licked his cheeks all over again. “Who’s a good dog? Huh? Bruno, that’s who!”</p><p>“Buddy!” Honey sped out of the kitchen in her heels and apron. “What was all that noise? You boys aren’t fooling around the house, are you?”</p><p>“No, Ma. Clumsy me just fell down the stairs.” Buddy placed the previously caught vase back where it belonged. “Bruno helped patch me up.”</p><p>“Well, you be careful next time. We can’t have your Mother making a fuss.”</p><p>“Yes, Ma.” Buddy faced Bruno again as Honey returned to the kitchen, and the dog’s tongue flopped back out as he crouched again, tail wagging. “No more today, pal. We might break something this time. Besides, I’ve got work to do and you gotta keep Ma and Daddy company while I’m gone.”</p><p>With a pat to the huffy dog’s head, Buddy strode into the kitchen and opened the window to share the friendly warmth of breakfast outside. A breeze blew cool and damp right past him and spread through the humble galley. The tiny gas-powered stove steamed with a fresh batch of puffed, browned and heavenly sweet hotcakes − a dish Bosko hadn’t made since Buddy was three.</p><p>There was great joy in how Bosko did it; juggling the batter with the skills of a soda jerk and tossing them over his shoulder, where Buddy was to catch them on the plates. He whistled while he worked, loud and expressive, as Honey doctored the petals on another flower vase on the windowsill to spruce up the room.</p><p>Buddy kept to his own space beside the breakfast table once his pancake-catching gig was through, and was free to admire the long advertisement like it was a hot date. He chuckled under his breath when he spotted another colorful spot reserved for Mickey Mouse, bigger than everything else on the entire paper but smaller than the main headline still gushing about Marilyn Monroe’s skirt catching in the wind last June.</p><p>A grin spread over Buddy’s face as he folded the newspaper and took the scissors from the drawer to cut out his silver lining. (With a little extra eye-candy from Miss Monroe, too, of course. He could spoil himself with something sweet every once in a while).</p><p>“If I were a rabbit, I’d rub my own foot for luck,” he teased aloud.</p><p>Bosko clicked off the stove. “What’s that?”</p><p>“The Wednesday ads. This one’s a real invite.” Buddy twirled the gray strip out with a flourish, grinning as his father read aloud about why he had to <em>‘sweat bullets in the day doing the tug and grime’</em> when he could <em>‘sweat bullets in the day BEING PAID to do the tug and grime.’</em> “Isn’t it neat? It was a calling, right from the paperboy himself! I gave him an extra nickel and told him to bring more good news tomorrow. I’m going out to answer this today.”</p><p>Buddy split the food on the third plate for the other two. “No need to save a plate for me. I’m full off of the excitement.”</p><p>Honey turned away from her flowers. “You won’t eat anything? Now Buddy, don’t be silly.”</p><p>“I’ll be okay.” He cleaned and placed the dish in the cupboard. “I can skip a meal.”</p><p>“Buddy, just a minute. You shouldn’t have to rush.”</p><p>“I’d like to make a good first impression, and Daddy always says punctuality served with a smile usually does the trick.”</p><p>“If he’s an honest worker, he’ll wait for you. But you don’t know that. You know nothing of this man! You don’t know if he’s friendly or if he’s put this kind of advertising in the paper before.”</p><p>Buddy chuckled and pulled a chair out for the little lady. “Oh, Ma…”</p><p>“I mean it. You don’t know how old he is either, or if he has a good memory, or if he has a temper.”</p><p>“He must be a swell guy if he’s paying a dollar-forty an hour,” Bosko pointed out, already digging in to his breakfast.</p><p>For a few moments Buddy stared at his mother, almost sure she was going to break into a smile or giggle to soften up the room once she realized how silly she was being. If it made the fireplace burn warmer in the winter and there was at least one thing edible each time supper came around, going to work all day was worth it.</p><p>Honey’s big eyes and button-nose were wrinkled with a mother’s worry. Buddy wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, gently rubbing her arm.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Ma, I’ll be smart out there. I won’t cause trouble, and I’ll do honest work even if he skimps me a buck or two.”</p><p>He kissed her, Bosko, and Bruno goodbye − heck, he even went around smooching all of Honey’s flowers in the house because he was so excited − then at 8:30 on the dot, Buddy was out of the house.</p><p>The address under the advertisement led him to a large university town somewhere off the junctions of Hal Boulevard and deeper onto Jim Avenue, all complemented by bustling streets full of buses, florists with bouquets along the coffee shops, and buildings three and four stories high.</p><p>Buddy turned down the next narrowly cobbled side street, jaw dropped in awe. Everything was an amazing jumble of different styles, from rickety wooden bookstores to marble and brick homes, up to huge stone churches on the hill. Sunlight was everywhere − in the dust, in the colors, in the smells of spices and overripe fruit.</p><p>Buddy continued up toward a fantastic sprawling house around a more low-rent but still bright neighborhood. The patio was an old-fashioned parquet with blends of homely browns, and the bricked walls were rough and straight even with ivy and fern clamoring up the sides. The dirt path wound to a double oak front door in loose pea shingle, and the nervous Toon smoothed down his ears a good three times before ringing the doorbell.</p><p>A tinny and grating sound resonated from inside, making Buddy’s ears go crooked. He didn’t want to be obnoxious (or go deaf) and ring it again when no one answered, but after a minute or two he had to endure the racket again. Still nothing.</p><p>“This has to be the right address,” he muttered, softly knocking on the door. He scratched the side of his head and pulled out the clipping. “I know the roads and towns better than anyone. It has to be…”</p><p>Light suddenly failed to reach the doormat beneath Buddy’s shoes, and looking up he spotted the presumed man of the house. He was a pretty large fella, both in height and the size of his stomach, and giving a fine how-do-you-do obviously wasn’t going to be on the agenda. He was scowling right through him and he hadn’t done a thing.</p><p>Buddy gave a timid wave. “Oh, ah, good morning sir! My name’s Buddy.” The man didn’t shake his proffered hand. “I read about your ad in the paper, and I’d love to give you a hand with whatever it is you need.”</p><p>“Sure you didn’t just see ‘cash’ and come runnin’?” A thunderous cackle boomed out his mouth, and a fat smirk slithered across his mouth. “Yeah, that’s how you gotta reel ’em in − just throw the bait and <em>snap!</em> You look like you’d punch above your weight, so let ol’ Pete here test it, okay?”</p><p>“Yes, sir! What’s the first thing I can do for you?”</p><p>A crumpled list lowered in front of Buddy’s nose, and the color plopped right off of him, leaving him a shivering pale silhouette. He needed to make maybe three trips back and forth to the post office, and three trips from the laundromat to dry cleaning; there were several knickknacks scribbled that needed to be sent to the pawnbroker over in the next town; some medications had to be refilled and picked up from the drug store…</p><p>A flurry of black ink tumbled down the page, coming to a roundabout with some bullet points at the center, and swept around it to continue up. It was a list that just didn’t know where to stop or begin. Buddy pulled himself together, watching but barely hearing the large cat list off on his fingers what was written.</p><p>“Got all that?” Pete finished.</p><p>“Gosh, such a big job from a bigger guy for the littler guy,” Buddy teased with a smile, elbowing Pete in the stomach. He scowled again, and Buddy saluted. “I’ll try and make sure everything on this list gets taken care of by 10:30.”</p><p>Pete started to nod, then shook his head. “Uh, what? You’ll try? 10:30?”</p><p>“That’s when my shift starts at the construction site over in Toontown. I gotta say, last Sunday and Monday was a real doozy. Didya read about it? But everything’s fine now, and I just remind myself it’s all in a day’s work making your boss proud and seeing the looks on people’s faces when we get to say—”</p><p>“To hell with that.”</p><p>“Right! To he-he…” Buddy glanced up, his ears flattened. “Come again?”</p><p>“If you’re gonna be working for me, there won’t be no time limit. You think all this stuff can sit around, and wait, and be pushed onto tomorrow?”</p><p>“Tomorrow? Oh gosh, I thought the ad said—”</p><p>“Always read the fine print, kid.” Pete grabbed Buddy by the scruff of his neck and pushed his own copy of the morning paper in his face. “There will always be something or another you’ll miss.”</p><p>Buddy squinted, squinted again through binoculars, and the third time worked like a charm when he saw through a magnifying glass the tiniest of block letters screaming at him:</p><p>
  <strong>EMPLOYEE IN AGREEMENT TO WORK 24 HOURS A DAY, SEVEN DAYS A WEEK<br/>(UNLESS SAID OTHERWISE BY EMPLOYER, WHICH IS VERY UNLIKELY).</strong>
</p><p>Buddy felt the color drain from him all over again. It was still a lot of work for a little guy for $1.40 on the hour.</p><p>“Oh, did I promise all of that moolah? Silly me. I’ve always been terrible with math.” Pete shred part of the paper until all that showed was a dot and a four. “Thanks for pointing that out for me, Junior!”</p><p>“Bu-bu-but, isn’t that—”</p><p>“Now, where was I? Oh yes, my babies. They’re looking rounder than usual, so take them with you. The walk will do ’em some good.”</p><p>Pete whistled, calling for a Butch and a Muncey, and immediately turned into a laughing, chummy owner when a bulldog and English Sheepdog respectively bounded from around the house. One of them playfully nipped at his foot, and it was the first time since Buddy had stepped on the porch that he finally noticed Pete had a prosthetic peg leg.</p><p>His ears flattened in sympathy, wondering how and when he’d gotten it, and the more he wondered the more he could rationalize his grumpiness. He didn’t know how long it had taken to get used to, and he also didn’t know how many times Pete had had to put an ad in the paper for help around the house. For all Buddy knew, it was just him and his dogs.</p><p>“You boys be good now, you hear?”</p><p>Buddy smiled after Pete had clipped leashes onto Butch and Muncey and took his leave inside.</p><p>“Don’t worry fellas. I’ve got a pup at home. I know what I’m doing.”</p><p>Buddy really did believe he knew what he was doing, but it didn’t matter if he had one dog or one hundred. He was not prepared for the hijinks with Butch and Muncey as company. Four times they had run off and almost chewed up the list when he wasn’t looking; three mailmen were now fit for running a marathon down Main Street; twice Buddy had almost been abandoned when Butch and Muncey had conceived a plan in dog language to tie him up at a pay phone with the leashes…</p><p>And it only took the troublesome pair one time to “accidentally” pee on his boots to make Buddy start to reconsider if dog truly was man’s best friend.</p><p>He sighed as he balanced the eleventh package of the day in his arms, while Butch continued making a game out of tearing the cuffs on his pants and Muncey barked at a poodle across the street. He didn’t think it was possible for a Toon’s fingers to pop off and never grow back, but he was afraid that would be the case for him if he had to haul around another basket, box, can, or container.</p><p>None of Pete’s chores had required a trip any further than Terry Town County, but boy was it exhausting under the sun. Buddy thought about Ralph all day. He must’ve been puzzled when he didn’t pop out from behind to chat with him at the bus stop before he chugged off. Maxwell, Murray, and Thomas were probably worrying where their little worker was, too, and his boss…</p><p>Buddy shuddered to think of how red his face could get. He hated whenever someone was a minute late for work. He’d absolutely explode if Buddy apologized for being three hours late!</p><p>But despite it all, Buddy smiled and stood tall. Sweat and a sore back was a welcome addition, he remembered. When he could finally feel the ink in his arms, and the 12:30 Toontown Clock chimed in the distance, his stomach finally showed him just how much he had worked.</p><p>“The boys are having lunch by now,” he mused, gazing in the distance where the crane ought to be. “Wonder what they’re havin’.”</p><p><em>Well, no sense moping</em>. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could grab a bite to eat. Buddy unrolled the list from his pocket, the wrinkles making it seem longer than it really was. He had twenty-one of the forty-nine errands complete so far. If he hurried, he could see about stopping at a diner for lunch before the day got any later. If he really hurried, he could even hop over to the construction site to straighten things out with his boss.</p><p>It was a long shot and required everything he had in Toon sense – speed, strength, wit, endurance. The sun definitely wasn’t on his side, but his good heart gave him every bit of energy to complete the final chore of the afternoon. It even sprinkled in a bit of luck when the local bus had to wait on someone and he was able to rest his feet for a second.</p><p>But only for a second. Butch and Muncey barked the entire ride and Buddy had to get off at the next stop and walk the remaining nine blocks to Pete’s house. It was a sweet miracle he answered on the first doorbell buzz and happily greeted his dogs, who were all of a sudden sitting angels.</p><p>The clock Buddy caught glimpses of as Pete counted his pay told him it was a quarter past one. What luck! There was still daylight, and Buddy just knew if he explained the conditions of his MIA, his boss would understand. Maybe he’d even give him the day off so he could properly help Pete again.</p><p>“Wait a minute, this isn’t right. All these chores…” Pete was studying the returned list and suddenly smacked the side of his head. “Oh, that’s right! You’ve got tomorrow’s list!” He took out a bulkier chunk of paper from his overalls. “These were what you had to do today.”</p><p>Buddy’s fingers went numb as he was handed what appeared to be a stain of ink. “You couldn’t possibly…you want me to—”</p><p>“Guess you won’t be needing all of this.” Pete swiped most of the money back, leaving only 15¢. “Ain’t’cha an overachiever? You got the day off tomorrow and some participation pennies.”</p><p>“Now Pete, I gotta say—”</p><p>“No need to thank me, Ad Whisperer. But be here Friday at ten o’clock sharp. Got that?”</p><p>Buddy flexed his fingers behind his back, dutifully nodding. “Yes, boss.”</p><p>“Oh, and I think Butch and Muncey have taken a liking to you. Why don’t you take them with you again for company?”</p><p>“…Yes, boss.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Typo of the Week:</p><p>“Buddy smiled after Pete had clipped leashes onto Butch and Muncey and took his leg inside.”</p><p>Pete, please don’t unfasten your prosthetic to walk it inside. How is that even possible? Even for a Toon 😂</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Family is Family</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The morning sun had the potential to bring a day as hot as last Sunday, but the air was quiet, still, and a whole lot cooler. All without a drop of rain. That was California, for you.</p><p>Oswald woke to the bright technicolor squeezing through the curtains. It was chilly, he thought, pulling the blanket tighter around Ortensia and himself. He hugged her a little closer and kissed the top of her head, watching the pink-and-yellow sky fade as morning fully arrived. When he saw some specks of blue, he shut his eyes.</p><p>But when those same blue specks jumped on his back, pulled his tail, and peeled one of his eyes open, he groaned. Six or seven voices blended into one messy whine:</p><p>“We’re hungry.”</p><p>Oswald sighed and sunk his head under his pillow. One of the juniors gave a rather vicious jab to his belly button, and he silently whispered goodbye to the idea of any more sleep as three more pokes went down his head. He rolled over to look at the clock. 8:24 a.m.</p><p>Oswald pushed the blankets off, immediately feeling the warmth of sleep begin to slip away. The giggling bunny children gathered around and started dragging their daddy by his feet out of bed, ignoring his half-hearted grumbling. He let them lead him into the kitchen, a place, he realized, where he was always quiet and always occupied with different thoughts.</p><p>Disneyland. Ortensia expecting. Reading the morning paper. Hearing Davey Crockett ballads. Now it was the spot for a new thought: why his children always found it funny to pop off his feet and hide them when he wasn’t looking.</p><p>It’d be a pain to tell them he wasn’t up there in his age of creation anymore, partly because they probably wouldn’t listen and take that as a challenge. But the fluttering Toon side of Oswald would just hate to see the disappointment in his sons’ eyes when he had to tell them, sooner or later, that their daddy was losing his touch and couldn’t easily do the many things that made them all laugh.</p><p>He couldn’t consider himself a <em>real Toon</em> anymore if he wasn’t…</p><p>No, that would never happen, he silently declared with a huff. His younger litter may not have grown alongside his 1920s career, but he wasn’t going to let his fading stardom spiral him into some great depression, or let it upset his boys.</p><p>It took a good five minutes for Oswald to round his large feet together and make them come to him the old-fashioned way. He carefully reattached them and stood, bending his knees and flexing every part of his body, before picking up things to make breakfast. His culinary skills only extended so far, but he could make do with what he had until the milkman and grocer arrived.</p><p>“Scoot over!”</p><p>“I was here first!”</p><p>Oswald’s ears picked up the restlessness of the children’s feet as one of them powered up the television for their morning cartoon and two more rushed to the nursery to wake the rest. He prayed Davey Crockett wouldn’t be on for half an hour as he spread avocado over toast and sprinkled tomato on top.</p><p>The milkman had come early as Oswald was slicing up the last of the peaches, so he tipped him graciously and set out only a few plates, knowing which of the boys would come running for firsts and which ones would be swayed by the power of television. By the time Oswald had refilled his eldest’s glass of milk for the seventh time, he was adding two more quarts to the grocery list just as Ortensia was making her way out the bedroom, half past nine.</p><p>If Oswald was anxious about her walking around with a growing litter, then that made every single Oswald Jr. overjoyed. One by one the boys hopped up, saying their “good mornings” and “how did you sleep, Mommy” and wanting to feel her belly for another kick. Oswald let them have their way while he heated up the tea kettle.</p><p>He let his mind wander too, figuring it might as well since he was in the designated spot to do so. All in all, he hoped California was doing okay. There had been so many loud and talked-about sensations lately, and of course they somehow had to be connected to Disneyland or Toontown. More inappropriately hot days for the theme park, Toontown getting a fluctuating number of visitors passing through, television shows competing for the spot on the TV Guide and a spot on a sponsored Walt Disney’s mantel.</p><p>Then it skipped backwards to Minnie’s visit five days ago. What had she wanted with their books all of a sudden? Had she really wanted to take her mind off of Sunday’s poor opening and Monday’s gas leak? That weird-looking Toon, too, hugging her arm like that and being all chivalrous in Mickey’s place…</p><p>Something moved in front of him. Oswald gave a start to see Ortensia sitting across from him, smiling in her proud and dreamy way. The same look she’d given him when they first met.</p><p>“You look so adorable when you’re thinking,” she said.</p><p>Oswald shook his head, trying not to hide behind his ears. “It’s nothing important.”</p><p>“It must be. Your nose is all wrinkled. Here”—She leaned over, wriggling her pink button-nose over his—“I’ll even it out.”</p><p>The screes from the kettle coincided with the rising blush on Oswald’s face. He drunkenly stumbled out his chair and clicked the stove off, turning redder at Ortensia’s giggles.</p><p>“So, uh, everything okay? No sudden movements or anything?” He stuttered as he took out two cups.</p><p>Ortensia nodded. “I’m fine. I’ve also been thinking, too.”</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>“I know you’ve been busy doing personal errands, and I think it’s so wonderful that you can still make time for me and the children while you go about it. My little scholar,” she added, pinching Oswald’s cheek.</p><p>
  <em>More like a sneak than a scholar.</em>
</p><p>Those odd papers he had taken for himself were still in his drawers somewhere, taunting him in a mixture of French and German. Oswald had spent two days straight at the public library and another three telephoning Information to finally get one answer to the many questions plaguing his head. He wished he had linguistic talents to gather what the heck all of that French and German garble meant.</p><p>It had been a pain sneaking behind Ortensia and the kids’ backs in the middle of the day and coming home past dinnertime. He still felt guilty snatching them right under Minnie’s nose and hadn’t sleep all too well for the week. Even telling himself he was doing her a favor by translating them to save her time was becoming a stale bit.</p><p>Sooner or later Minnie would find the missing pieces and come knocking on their door.</p><p>“Is that what you’ve been thinking about? Me?” Oswald asked, stirring Ortensia’s ginger-scented drink.</p><p>“I always think of you, silly. But no, it’s a little bigger than that.” Ortensia glanced down at the tablecloth. “Mickey called.”</p><p>The spoon stopped stirring. The wall clock pretty much stopped ticking.</p><p>“The other night. He just wanted to know what we were all doing.”</p><p>Hot water overflowed over the rim of the second cup, but Oswald didn’t immediately clean it up. He finished preparing the first drink and set it beside Ortensia, giving her a little extra ginger and a peck on the cheek.</p><p>“Well, isn’t he a good guy from above?” He started quietly, paws on his hips. “All of that promoting a theme park in his own name and posing for his brand-new show in the paper must be catching up to him. His fingers must have ached just thinking of dialing our number.”</p><p>Oswald’s voice dripped with venomous sarcasm as he wiped the countertops clean.</p><p>“He’s been wondering where we’ve all been, and he thinks a Saturday out would liven up our night,” Ortensia added quickly, rubbing her fingertips together.</p><p>Oswald felt his foot thumping and heard a dull ringing roll around in his ear like a special sort of thunder. He wasn’t buying it.</p><p>“He sounded like he wanted to see us tonight.”</p><p>He shivered in the heat and swallowed the bitterness while it was an ice-seed.</p><p>“He’ll bring Minnie along, too.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“It’s like if one of our friends invited us out to dinner. Naturally you’d take me with you, and I’d—”</p><p>“Ortensia.”</p><p>It pained Oswald on every inch of his body to say his sweetheart’s name like that. Like it was a warning. He wanted to release the pent-up energy on pen and paper. He wanted to let it sit at the kitchen table for a little while, just long enough to get a feel for it. He breathed in real slow and shook his head.</p><p>“I don’t want to see him.”</p><p>Ortensia took his paw, letting the warmth and softness of her own let him know she was there, that everything was all right.</p><p>“Oh, Oswald… Honey, I know it’s been a while since you two have seen each other, but don’t you think now,” she slowly added, caressing his cheek with her other paw and giving him a smile, “while Mickey still can and is able to make a date with us, that you should show him a good time?”</p><p>Oswald relaxed his face, unknitting his brows and changing his posture. He was supposed to go down the Disney route, and be all smiles and perky and cheerful, all for a mouse?</p><p>He crossed his arms and looked away. “Why should I?”</p><p>“He’s our family,” Ortensia reminded him, turning his head back around to face her. “He’s your family, Oswald.”</p><p>“Who decided that? Certainly not Walt Disney!”</p><p>Like a cluster of spark plugs was going off in his abdomen, Oswald pushed his full weight on the table to steady himself, silently choking on the bitter taste flooding his mouth. An odd blur pricked keenly in his eyes, and he knew he was en route towards that tearless stage when eyes took on a sheen of water and a burning tension built behind them. Just waiting to come out.</p><p>Now wasn’t the time or place for childish tears, and it was a childish thing to cry about, and he was no child. Oswald had trouble smiling but did so anyway, only for Ortensia.</p><p>“If you want to go,” he started softly, stopped, then started again. “Ortensia, if you want to see him tonight, that’s up to you. You can, or you won’t. But I don’t want to visit him. Not tonight, not tomorrow night, not…” He bit his lip. “Not tonight, okay?”</p><p>Ortensia nodded, her eyes as open and honest as any child, but her hold on his paw told another story.</p><p>“Okay.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Mouse Trap</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The shade was a luxury after the summer heat, but even with the bottom of her dress billowing in the cool of the air-conditioning and her feet sinking into the bright sofa cushions, Minnie’s body still felt like it was traveling. Saturday had proved to be the most popular day of the week for Disneyland.</p><p>The opening-day problems and all of the press coverings away from the television cameras had done little to dissuade folks from flocking to the theme park. In under an hour, the entire 160-acres had been crowded with both humans and Toons celebrating the one-week anniversary, singing the newest songs from radio programs and rubbing shoulders as they shuffled forward, never minding that their toes were often stepped on by women’s heels or that they were squished in closer to strangers than they usually were to friends and family. The air had had its daily dose of laughter from the children, flowing down the four wonderlands the same way the Thames River met its banks.</p><p>The Disney crew had never seen such a sight. It was both touching and overwhelming.</p><p>If Minnie closed her eyes, she could still see the infectious grins and feel the excitement buzzing through her hands when she got to meet everyone all over again. She couldn’t recall a time seeing so many boys and girls, men and women in one place − and she was a cartoon starlet!</p><p>She sighed out of her thoughts to watch the short July light drain away. The faintest of a silvery moon began to shine through the leaves, making the green shrubbery look almost black. There were the first buzzes of mosquitoes and other summer insects from a window left open, and further down the boulevard, the faintest smells of car exhaust made her nose crinkle.</p><p>It reminded her of Tomorrowland’s Autopias and how silly Frankie had been after she’d driven them around the track on Opening Day.</p><p>
  <em>“If you can drive as well as you can act Minnie, maybe I’ll let you take my Sunbeam out for a drive.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh no, I could never. The highway terrifies me.”</em>
</p><p>Frankie’s smile had been one of growing happiness, like a spring flower opening. Minnie could still see in her head how it had come from deep inside to light up his eyes and spread to every part of him.</p><p>
  <em>“I’d hold you tight, and you could hold onto me if you ever felt scared,” he had teased.</em>
</p><p>On the couch, Minnie returned the smile to the phantom conversation. She glanced down at her fingers running through the folds of her sleeves, wondering how they’d kept from flinching whenever she had to hold that nasty cigar case. She’d been hiding it away for Frankie all day.</p><p>
  <em>“Silly, I couldn’t do that because you’d be the one driving. Give me sidewalk any day.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Then what would you say to a picnic over by the Big Sur next Saturday? My treat.”</em>
</p><p>Minnie didn’t get a chance to allow the memory to finish when a pair of gloves quickly whisked away her vision. She cried out in alarm and was about to pull the hands off her eyes.</p><p>“Guess who?”</p><p>She leaned back into the couch.</p><p>“Ozzie Nelson? Jeff Chandler? Donald O’Connor?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Minnie giggled and felt around backwards, palming a chubby-cheeked face. “George Gobel? Ed Wynn? Charlton Heston?”</p><p>“No…”</p><p>“Hm, I do know that voice. It belongs to a very special guy.” Minnie peeked through the fingers and offered a melodramatic gasp. “Oh, it’s you! Now let me see…”</p><p>“Very funny.” Mickey was unable to fight the impulse to smile and lovingly pecked her lips. “How come you’re not dressed yet? We have to be at the bistro in ten minutes.”</p><p>“Not dressed? I’m wearing my—”</p><p>Well, Minnie had thought she’d been wearing one of her evening garbs and platform shoes. She hadn’t remembered slipping into a negligée and slippers and staying in them for the past three hours.</p><p>“I must be in Fantasyland still,” she teased. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather trade the public for a nice, private evening instead?”</p><p>“You’d rather stay home on a Saturday night?”</p><p>“With you. Just think”—Minnie shared a glance out at the early evening lull that had come to their neighborhood, gesturing to the Toons heading inside or parking in their driveways to relax after a busy day—“everyone’s got the right idea. It’s a lot quieter at home than in some crowded restaurant. You wouldn’t have to bother getting up every two seconds if someone wants a picture of you or your autograph.”</p><p>Mickey chuckled. “When you’ve been in the game for twenty-six years, you’re still not used to it. But you love it so much.” He Eskimo kissed his sweetheart and gently took her hand. “I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Now go on, go get dressed. I’ll wait for you.”</p><p>Minnie didn’t let go when Mickey made a start for the kitchen. She didn’t let go the second time when Mickey patted her arm, silently asking for his hand back.</p><p>“I don’t think we should go out tonight,” she blurted out with no control.</p><p>Mickey’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why not?”</p><p><em>Why not?</em> How was Minnie supposed to tell him she thought they shouldn’t even be going out in public as much anymore, acting so gay and colorful, without sounding conceited or demanding? She had her reasons, good and poor, yet she felt they’d be better off left in her head. As though there was some law or unspoken rule preventing her from putting it in words.</p><p>“Minnie, why not? Aren’t you feeling well?”</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>“Don’t you want to see Ortensia?”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“Then what’s the matter? Don’t tell me you have nothing to wear,” Mickey teased, squeezing the hand still wrapped around his.</p><p>Minnie ignored the touch and sighed. She hated that she knew what would happen if she told Mickey how anxious she had become over the week. Heck, over the month! If she said anything like “I don’t know about this” or “I don’t think we should,” his eyes would twinkle and he’d break into a boyish grin, hold her head in his hands, and kiss her.</p><p>He’d tell her not to be silly, that she could tell him anything, and that they could have any intimate night, just the two of them, on any other night. But not tonight, because she couldn’t be rude to not meet Oswald and Ortensia when they had already agreed to everything. She did want to try, though.</p><p>“I just don’t think tonight’s going to be any good. I don’t mean we won’t enjoy each other’s company, but I…” Minnie bunched up the sheer hem of her nightdress, putting her foot down with her final demand. “We’re staying home.”</p><p>Mickey crossed his arms, and in his small narrowed eyes his expression was serious but not unkind. He sighed under his breath, gazing at his tapping foot for a minute too long.</p><p>“Come on Minnie, don’t be ridiculous. The only time we get out is manning the park while Walt’s away − and sometimes we don’t get to see each other that often,” he pointed out. “Ortensia sounded like she really wanted to see us over the phone, and Oswald has to come. She told me he’s never let her out of his sight with the new litter on the way. Don’t you think she deserves a break from all the children, spending it with friends?”</p><p>Minnie wished Mickey hadn’t guided her toward the stairs while he spoke. She wanted to sit still and listen to what he had to say, and she wanted him to sit still and listen to what she had to say.</p><p>“We can’t stay home and hide away from the public until I feel better about us?” But Minnie didn’t say this in all of its entirety and only asked the first four words.</p><p>“The night is young and we’re going to enjoy it,” Mickey reassured her with a smile. “Go ahead and get dressed, honey. I’ll get your coat.”</p><p>With flushed and mottled red cheeks to hide, Minnie sighed and felt the fifth step creak under her before realization hit her like a truck. “My coat?” She scrambled back to the ground floor. “Oh no, Mickey wait!”</p><p>Minnie knew building a three-paneled mirror to make the hall closet feel larger was a horrible idea. She could see more of boxes and shelves rather than coats and purses, poorly hidden by whatever she had thrown over them in a haste. She could see the lowest shelf that had meant to be cleaned during the weekend while Mickey was asleep shake and fold in on itself.</p><p>Worst of all, she could see the surging confusion flash across Mickey’s reflection before it broke open into a silent and stony insecurity by the items that had fallen. The only thing soon moving on him were his hands leafing through tumbled photo after fluttering newspaper after hovering tabloid.</p><p>A heavy silence settled over each mouse, tighter than the uneasy knots in the atmosphere and possibly in their stomachs. Minnie’s eyes skipped around the room, trying to avoid catching Mickey’s stare that wouldn’t have met hers anyhow. Mickey eventually spread everything on the coffee table and smiled in the same way he did for the children at Disneyland as he first viewed the photos.</p><p>“I never knew how much you liked having your picture taken,” he said softly. “Gosh, you look pretty.”</p><p>“Please don’t say that. They’re really nothing. Put them back, okay?”</p><p>“Radiant, even. Look at my little Minnie Mouse. With every other man beside her, you can’t help looking at her first.”</p><p>Minnie inched forward but didn’t dare touch him. “Why don’t you put those away and we can take the car? I won’t take long getting dressed.”</p><p>“Gosh, I remember when the <em>New York Evening Graphic</em> was still around.” Mickey had moved on to the twenty-five-year-old exaggerated prattle, its worn and gray headlines still stinging with fresh wounds. “They sure had fun writing about me and Walt. That April just wasn’t the best time for any of us.”</p><p>Minnie felt painfully out of place and somewhat ungraceful, like she was intruding on Mickey’s reading when the crumbled-up stories and fresh photographs all belonged to her. She hesitated to fully step in front of him to return everything to the closet and shrunk away from the idea of trying to charm or humor her way out of the mess. She should’ve locked those photographs someplace secure and burned those stupid newspaper and magazine clippings the moment they surfaced back in 1930.</p><p>“You missed one.”</p><p>Minnie did a double take at the photo in Mickey’s hand − a grainy but very valuable snapshot of Minnie mid-kiss with Ub Iwerks at a secluded, candlelit dinner table.</p><p>“Did he make you laugh? Or tell a good story?” Mickey’s stare wasn’t so much a cold one but a vacant one. “When was this?”</p><p>There was something solemn swimming in his eyes. Their stunning blackness held a truth that his face couldn’t hide very well, and the depressing chill that they let out made Minnie’s heart loudly crack.</p><p>She looked away. “I don’t remember.”</p><p>“That’s okay.” Mickey fetched one of his hats from the rack and tipped the suede material low on his face, masking the top of his eyes. “When I come back, I’m sure you will.”</p><p>“When you come… Where are you going? Wait a minute Mickey!”</p><p>The Toon was already out the door and on his way down one of many short cuts the district offered. No one could ever move so fast and yet so heavily-footed, but the mouse made it possible.</p><p>“Mickey Mouse, you get back inside this instant!”</p><p>He never once looked back, slowed down, or flinched at the shrill voice running after him. Minnie stopped halfway across Main Street when a pair of headlights came bouncing over the hill, blinding her temporarily before passing and disappearing. The outlines of Mickey’s ears blended and vanished fast in between the pools of streetlight, leaving Minnie a shivering mess.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A Priceless Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Monday surprise! I’ve missed 3-4 Fridays due to camping, midterms, and a spoonful of anti-motivation, but no more! I have returned. I’ve also decided to take on the challenge of naming chapters now. Hope you enjoy 😊</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beyond the horizon, the red sun floodlit the flickering haze of factory smog and summer mist. In the far-off distance, the skyline of Toontown pierced through the warm glow like a jagged mountain ridge. Despite the time, the hustle and bustle never came to a halt. The city’s Toons were off to a movie, visiting relatives, relaxing in a smoky jazz bar downtown.</p><p>The hot sidewalk had Buddy dancing along a little faster as he dreamt up newer buildings, fresh vibrant medleys to bring the neighborhood into a higher rhythm.</p><p><em>That’s the joy of my work</em>, he thought with a grin.</p><p>Though the neighborhood around the construction site was mostly re-built, there were still some derelict buildings and apartments that remained in the outskirts of the Berman-Rich Ghetto. Next to the fancy architecture of the different and new, they almost looked like they were beamed in from a 1940s horror picture.</p><p>To the local kiddies, they were more alluring than the candy store and at night a few would break in with flashlights, eager to find a souvenir to show back at school. There had been a few stories of teenagers falling through rotting stairways − thankfully sporting cuts and bruises and nothing worse − but they mostly only hung around long enough to break another window.</p><p>Buddy remembered Berman-Rich being a whole sensation in the papers some years ago when the buildings had surpassed the notion of being simply “old.” The Toontown and Anaheim City Council had had so many debates to plow through the plot of land and start from scratch, or listen to the protestors and leave it be.</p><p>They had put it to a public vote, but Buddy couldn’t tell if the city had lost and left things alone, or if everything had been totaled for a new shop or home to be built − only for history to repeat itself. Weeds were now eating the once healthy grass, foundations were crumbling, and fences were defaced with graffiti. There was no talk from the councils yet, but Buddy was definitely going to vote that year.</p><p>Whistling gaily to himself, he hiked up the slight concrete indent separating Berman-Rich from the more open divisions of Toontown before turning into the rear end of the construction site. He cautiously inched through the chain link fence, not wanting to disturb the crane radio parts in his pockets, the equipment fuel he’d stashed in his hat, or the Velcro straps he’d wedged in his boots.</p><p>“I’m back, sir!” The black-and-white Toon called out to his boss.</p><p>The large bull turned away from whatever he was signing, quirking an eyebrow and huffing. Being of half Traditional Toon blood, he couldn’t stimulate enough vocal range for full conversations. Buddy thought he had interpreted his orders pretty well over the years and handed over the items with a smile.</p><p>“I got everything you sent for right here. The clerk says he hopes you understand the long wait. Everyone’s got a radio over in Fantasmagorie County, it seems. They’re sellin’ like hot cakes! Ya know, it really stupefies me how a silent town could want so—”</p><p>Buddy hadn’t realized the rising and sinking expressions on the boss’s face until he was lifted off the ground by the scruff of his neck. He blinked hard when the fuel cylinder was shoved in his face—the fuel needed for one of the skid tanks actually being gastric tablets. Buddy’s eyes widened to the size of saucers when he then saw how eight of the twelve needed Velcro were either dog leashes or climbing rope, and the package of radio parts were actually sponges and toilet brush heads.</p><p>“Uh, sir, I-I can fix this! It was a simple errand mix up. Wrong list, see?” He took out a crumbled thing of paper from his pocket, realized it was a sales slip, and shoved it behind his back. “I’ll fix it.”</p><p>He plopped back to the ground as the colossal fists of the horned animal mashed together, his maroon skin brightening to a fire truck red.</p><p>Buddy chuckled nervously. “Now, now, steady your temper. We wouldn’t want another incident, would we?”</p><p>Snorting out steam, the enraged bull crushed the phony items with his bare hands, drew a dollar sign in the air before slashing it in half, then angrily pointed to the cement mixture. When Buddy wasn’t fast enough to get up, he was punted in the behind to move faster.</p><p>Rolling up his sleeves to grab a bucket, the Toon tried to think where he went wrong. He had called the boss about his newest side hustle the second he’d gotten home Wednesday night, and because he couldn’t easily get out of Pete’s employment, his start time at the construction zone got knocked down to 6:30 a.m.</p><p>Buddy had begged to work three hours once on the site instead of the four his boss had tried stamping on his head. That way on Friday, he’d take an early lunch and report to Pete at ten o’clock sharp to get his errands started for the day. Who knew how bulky that list could get?</p><p>In hindsight, Buddy really should have called in the morning. Maybe it would’ve swayed the boss’s roaring threat of “four hours or no hours,” then Buddy would’ve shown up on time that morning for Pete and realize how he’d mixed up two completely different errands. With a gulp, he hoped Pete had a radio and that his dogs liked skid tank fuel.</p><p>When his rescheduled ending shift for 7:10 p.m. blared in his ears, Buddy left skid marks in his wake to beat the pharmacist’s, pet shop’s, corner store’s, and supermarket’s clocks.</p><p>Three out of the four begrudgingly replaced the items, demanding IOUs in return since Buddy was low on cash; the pharmacist gave him a five minute lecture on how “medicine is not a toy,” and Buddy felt he needed a prescription for his fuming anxiety as he watched the closing time draw nearer and the pharmacist hardly raised a hand to refill the tablets; then the Toon narrowly escaped being flattened by the 7:40 bus in his desperate attempts to flag the driver down.</p><p>By the time he had stepped off of Jim Avenue and into Pete’s neighborhood, Buddy was panting like a mad dog, each breath scorching his burning lungs. He weakly rapped on the screen door, and the man upstairs must’ve thought ‘enough is enough,’ because He kindly had Pete answer in an appropriate amount of time. He even took the gargantuan paper bag out of his hands.</p><p>“You’re just chock full of surprises, ain’t’cha Bud? Seven minutes to spare. You got tomorrow off, but don’t go slackin’ like this morning, you hear?”</p><p>Buddy nearly swallowed his dry tongue trying to breathe out a “yes, Pete.” He nodded to be on the safe side and gave a tired but satisfied smile at the stacks of green coming out of Pete’s coveralls.</p><p>“Anything else I can do for you before I leave?” He heard himself wheeze before he could properly gulp down air.</p><p>Pete cocked an unimpressed brow. “What’re you tryin’ to do? Work overtime? Peel a couple bucks off my back for good behavior?”</p><p>“Don’t you remember aching about your leg? I told you to elevate it, and you told me it’d really be up someplace if I didn’t scram.” Buddy fished a tiny bottle out his shirt. “Murray, my buddy at work, said whenever he needs to forget his troubles, he’ll take this stuff. Said I should definitely use them on myself sometime, but I thought you needed it more. See?”</p><p>Pete leaned against his front door, arms crossed and grin wide.</p><p>“Ah, I do see. Might I make one teensy-weensy suggestion?” The large cat brought Buddy close by the shoulders. “The next time you speak, make it loud and clear, because I can’t hear you all the way in back <em>kissin’ my ass!</em>”</p><p>The force of Pete’s bellow blew him away a good foot and sent him tumbling down the porch steps.</p><p>“Huh? I was only—”</p><p>“Thinking I’m some kind of charity case? Some accomplishment you can slap on your chest like a Boy Scouts merit badge?”</p><p>With each word, Pete’s fists clenched tighter and his ears steamed hotter with each prowling step forward. Buddy held out his hands as he had done to his other boss hours before.</p><p>“Now, now Pete, steady your temper. I only meant to—”</p><p>“Spy? Eavesdrop? A man can’t have privacy in his own damn house? You know what happened to spies in the war?”</p><p>Quick as a whip, Buddy’s vision was cut short by his hat being pulled down, and when he moved to fix it he felt a powerful kick to his behind. He glanced up (or rather down; his pants had gotten caught on the mailbox) at Pete, arms crossed once more and his sneer twisted.</p><p>“You better learn the ropes of the real world, boy! Nobody’s gonna pat you on the back for bein’ a smart aleck,” he shouted out to him. “Take a page out of my book. Got it?”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>“Good. Now get off my property!”</p><p>Buddy winced as the door he’d painted that afternoon nearly folded in on itself by how hard it slammed. The hinges shook, the doorknob rattled, and the porch light swung violently until it was clicked off from inside. The Toon so close to a relatively good night and pleasant thoughts gritted his teeth and heatedly snapped his fingers.</p><p>“<em>Rats!</em>”</p><p>He badly wanted to curse, but his heart wouldn’t let him. He thought he should tell his folks how he’d gotten the axe on both paychecks, but he couldn’t stomach their disheartened faces. He really needed to eat, but he doubted he could get something hot with the 15¢ he’d earn three days ago.</p><p>
  <em>Ralph, where are ya when I need you, pal?</em>
</p><p>Buddy shook his head and shoved his fists in his pockets, dragging his feet down the unending boulevard. An hour ago the sun had glossed across the skies, turning it molten orange with bands of crimson. Now it was gone and Buddy felt claustrophobic, almost like he was in a cave. Puffs of gray cloud swooped into the blackened night like an armed patrol and surrounded the small moon from all sides. A humid breeze clipped his nose, making him sneeze.</p><p>Buddy kept his gaze down and may have bumped into some Toons once or twice, and he may have stepped on some human’s toes in his zombified stupor, but he swore on Tex Avery that his hand had been nowhere near any girl’s skirt.</p><p>He jumped at her persistent screeches of being pinched, and her beau, an enormous alligator, took her word against his, cracked his scaled knuckles, and told Buddy to his face (spittle and all) that he’d like to see how high a Toon could fly. After a quip that the Wright Brothers had beaten both human and Toon to it, Buddy used the brief second of confusion on the large reptile’s face to book it down the crowded avenue.</p><p>He didn’t know if the alligator had caught up to him, or maybe he had peeved off another fella’s girl as he pushed his way through, or perhaps some other Toon just wanted in on the chase. He didn’t know, but he went soaring into the air from a third delightful kick to his rear, bouncing off an awning, tumbling in between a group of legs like a bowling ball, and crashing through an opened window into a dimly lit, uncomfortably warm…smokin’ and glitzy…undeniably red, red, red…</p><p>“<em>Hot!</em>” Buddy gasped out.</p><p>The cats were out to play.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Shed a Light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Hump Day! This marks 2/3 of my Missed Friday Package. Of course, there will be another chapter uploaded this Friday, thus (hopefully) returning to our regularly scheduled publishing. Thank you for reading! ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Within seconds of realizing he was conscious, Oswald was on his feet, eyes wide and heart thumping. As far as he could tell, he was alone. It was worse though than it first appeared; usually after the point in waking <em>she</em> knew who he was, but he didn’t. He couldn’t think of a name that belonged to him or a single person he knew. Any face his mind offered had as much resonance as a total stranger.</p><p>Then from nowhere came the pain. His limbs flexed in shock. There was liquid in them, around his entire body, too. It wanted him to fall into the false safeties of “calm” and “normal.” Freshly-sharpened pencils were scribbling, scratching, casting him out. Someone was laughing in his ear.</p><p><em>Who am I?</em> The black rabbit anxiously thought.</p><p><em>Don’t worry about that now</em>, something responded. <em>We’re going to get to know each other very well. Time to begin. There’s a lot of wool to pull from your eyes.</em></p><p>There was a fleeting moment when Oswald was whole again, but it evaporated faster than the chance of rain in California. His eyes, droopy and stinging with sleep, snapped open as violently as if he’d been woken by sirens. He clutched furiously at his chest, hoping that by a scratch or simple graze, his heart would stop racing and his body might shut down.</p><p>Ortensia stirred by his side in bed. “What’s the matter?”</p><p>The alarm clock provoked him with a time of 11:21 p.m. He harshly rubbed at his eyes with shaky paws and snuggled close to Ortensia, feeling the telltale signs that his brain was still waking from that bizarre nightmare thudding in his chest, turning in nonsensical ways, clawing to remain fresh in his mind. He swallowed down a knot of nausea and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in and out the best he could.</p><p>The doorbell snapped him out of the stupor and he jumped like the button was hardwired to his brain.</p><p>Ortensia groaned. “Oswald…”</p><p>A knock came quietly first, and then there was silence. Then another knock, silence, and then another. Oswald’s legs were as good as lead and he lazily hoped he was in a dream within a dream, but the returning buoyant <em>ding-dong</em> brought him jolting up as good as a slap.</p><p>“Stay in bed. I’ll go see who it is.”</p><p>He trudged through the darkened home, bumping his nose on the walls and catching his tail on something or another. He winced when the doorbell went off again and hesitated to check on the children. Nothing was worse than a wide-awake boy at almost midnight.</p><p>Oswald constantly rubbed his foot before creaking open a door. Whoever was up there was really in favor of him; all beds were full, all snoring and sleep talk (and mumbled “Davey, Davey Crockett, king of the wild frontier…”) were accounted for. He used the brief gaps in between the knocking to tuck some of his boys in or push aside the paddle balls and Go Fish cards polluting the carpet.</p><p>The Rabbits honestly needed a bigger house. Or fewer impulses in March.</p><p>Finally reaching the living room, Oswald yanked the tassel of a lamp, filling the space with an almost sickly white light, and with a grumbled “I’m coming, bub,” opened the door. He should have added the letter ‘L’ in his muttered name calling.</p><p>A large anthropomorphic lightbulb had leaned forward to rap his knuckles on the door again, completely unprepared for it to open and instead landing three knocks in the middle of Oswald’s forehead.</p><p>“Oh! I’m terribly sorry.” The light source adjusted his blue university graduation dress and cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to disturb you at this hour. Is this Minerva Mouse’s residence?”</p><p>“Who’re you?” Oswald’s demand was as sharp as his scowl and the bump growing on his noggin. “And how do you know Minnie?”</p><p>“Oh yes, how rude of me. My name is Lucien Watson”—The bulb tipped his graduation cap—“current bookkeeper and advisor of the Terry Town Redstone Bookshop, and former professor of Moldenhauer University. Does Minerva Mouse not live in this neighborhood?”</p><p>Oswald crossed his arms. “Who wants to know?”</p><p>“I’ve already told you, my dear boy. Has she not spoken of me? Oh, that’s quite alright. I’m not offended, but I do need her whereabouts as soon as possible. See, the address stitched in one of the volumes she brought—”</p><p>“Oswald, who is it?”</p><p>Both men turned at the quiet voice approaching from down the hall. Rubbing an eye with one hand and the other hovering over the light switch, Ortensia drearily stared over at the door.</p><p>“Some kook who’s nipped at the cooking sherry. I thought I told you to stay in bed.” Oswald shooed the stranger off the welcome mat. “Listen pal, I don’t know you and I don’t know what you want with Minnie, so you’d better leave before I lose my temper.”</p><p>The fella’s beady eyes squinted, and his finger restlessly rubbed the metal underparts of his chin. “This is most troubling. She didn’t inform me this was a private affair.” His gaze popped up just as Oswald was closing the door, making the latter jump. “If she is unavailable, would you mind passing along a message?”</p><p>“I could give her a call.” Ortensia shrugged at the look Oswald gave her and flipped the lights on. “Why not? She might still be up.”</p><p>“At this time?”</p><p>“You can come in, mister. Rest your feet for a bit. It’s cold out there.”</p><p>Oswald stared, mouth agape and tail rigid. “Ortensia, don’t encourage him! He’s a total stranger.”</p><p>“So were you and I when we first met,” she pointed out with a playful little smirk, her tail swishing as she took the phone off its cradle. “Besides, there’s no harm in being pleasant to a neighbor. You sit here,” she added to the lightbulb, even going so far as to draping a spare blanket, left behind by one of the boys, over his lap. “Would you like something to drink, Mister…?”</p><p>The watts-for-brains took her paw. Oswald’s fur bristled. “Lucien Watson, and no thank you, my dear. I don’t wish to be a bother.” He gingerly kissed her knuckles. “But thank you ever so.”</p><p>Oswald mocked him under his breath and stayed put by the wall, both eyes and feet pointed ahead. The guy was a total brown-noser, no doubt about it. What exactly did a bookshop adviser even do? They were already managing a whole commercial building, so what did advice have to do with its books?</p><p>He’d mentioned working at Redstone, and yet Oswald had visited thousands of times in previous summers, both with his boys and whenever Ortensia was in the mood for a sappy read. The Rabbits loved it, but not once had they ever encountered Lucien or someone of his position.</p><p>
  <em>Who does this guy think he’s fooling?</em>
</p><p>“You never answered my question. How do you know Minnie?” Oswald asked.</p><p>“I’ve only recently become acquainted with her,” Lucien answered, folding the sides of the blanket. “Very nice girl. Cute, too. Quite the conscious worrier.”</p><p>“How does she know an oddball like you?”</p><p>“Only by the binding power of literature. I was surprised by her preferences when she brought them to me. I take it you’re a Toon with a good eye for what’s between the lines, as well? Those books have been with you for a spout of time, yes?”</p><p>Oswald pressed his lips together, one eye narrowed. All the questions and 18th-century formality… This Toon was making his head pound, his stomach spin, and his heart curious all at once. The rabbit steadied himself further against the wall, shutting his eyes from a dizzying spell. If Ortensia hadn’t come into the room, the bulb would’ve been kicked out seconds ago.</p><p>“Not one for conversation?” Oswald jumped. The loon was right in front of him, patting his paw like a consoling parent. “Quite all right…Oswald, was it?”</p><p>He snatched his paw away. “Yeah, it’s Oswald you old—”</p><p>Ortensia’s sigh cut him off. “Minnie’s not answering.” She wound the telephone cord with her finger, tapping her foot and spinning the rotary wheel. “I’ve dialed twice already.”</p><p>“Maybe she’s at a movie or went to bed early,” Oswald pointed out with a shrug. He glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. 11:47 p.m.</p><p>“I don’t know. She and Mickey never did pick up the phone when I called earlier to tell them we couldn’t meet for dinner.” Ortensia’s brow dipped as she pressed the phone closer to her ear. “I’m sure I called. Or maybe I dozed off.”</p><p>Oswald took the phone away.</p><p>“You should really rest. Minnie’s probably doing overtime at Disney with Robin Hood or something. You’re worried all for nothing, and this kook can get their number from Information if it’s so urgent,” he added under his breath.</p><p>Ortensia shook her head and hugged Oswald’s arm. She wasn’t going to budge for a while, and he knew. She’d camp out in the living room with three mugs of tea, eyes open all night if she had to in order to hear the mouse’s squeaky voice. It was a woman thing, it had to be—especially an expecting woman thing.</p><p><em>Look what you’ve done to her. Thanks a lot</em>, he snapped in his head at Lucien. He growled at the Toon standing like a blinking angel by his chair, all high and mighty with knowledge, and his book background, and his teaching status at Moldenhauer. Wherever the heck that was.</p><p>“If it’ll make you feel better,” Oswald slowly began, hardly believing what he was saying, “I’ll walk down to the house myself and check up on her. I can give her whatever message you have while I’m there,” he said to Lucien, pointing at a pad and pencil by the telephone. “Write it down.”</p><p>Ortensia hugged his arm tighter. “I want to call the bistro while you’re out. If they are there or just left, at least we’ll know and won’t be surprised.”</p><p>Oswald could feel the air rushing out of him from his overly exhausted sigh. He could feel another shake of the head coming, but one look at his special honey and hearing her sugary “pretty please” and seeing her bottom lip quivering, his eyes lightened and he kissed her cheek.</p><p>“Straight to bed after. I won’t take long.”</p><p>Oswald had underestimated the cold that night. At least around Winkler Avenue. The skies sat dark and low on his shoulders, wicking away his body heat faster than it could replace itself. He could feel the fur on his arms rise underneath his coat, and his breath was slowly becoming visible under the moonlight and the few street lamps that lit up the two-toned neighborhood.</p><p>Other than the darkness and the rabbit himself, all that seemed to exist were the winds and a dull canopy of stars. From the restaurants and dress shops that lined the block, they mirrored the dazzling assemblage of car and movie palace headlights in the far-off distance.</p><p>Oswald held his breath and forced his footsteps to quiet down beyond a noiseless notion of silence as he passed through Fantasmagorie County. The faint breeze brushed against his cheeks and ruffled the inside of his ears. If it weren’t for the occasional car and Toon closing their shutters, Oswald never would have guessed it was nighttime.</p><p>He almost jumped for joy when he came to the crossroads leading into the next large town—“where laughter happens at sunrise and you can rest at the end of the day.” Oswald could have thrown up whenever his eyes had to read such rubbish. From the streets, the houses were blushing bricks and spotless mortar topped with tile; two-story Colonials settled on tamed hills; ornate sandstones too pretty to touch the earth, so they had to float above it all.</p><p>Every lawn’s tulips and buttercups were permanent pinks and yellows, and the grass was the shade of every dreamers’ meadow. Gardens were loved, soil was fertilized and renewed every year. Even the trees didn’t look like charcoal versions of their daytime selves and were aglow with maroon and navy blue in the lukewarm evening.</p><p>Up-market shops, smooth black and glass exteriors, and fancy outdoor poster boards in fancier lettering caressed the sidewalks. Boutique and diner windows were oversized, mullioned and almost cathedral-like, bursting with humanity and organized Toon sanity on the inside.</p><p>Oswald hated Disneyville. He hated how it had inspired the construction of Toontown twelve years ago. He hated how, by using basic colors, tremendous effort was put forth to capture the look and feel of the classic Golden Age of Disney so it would never die. He hated how, with no established schedule or routine, the town was designed to look like one spontaneous flow of Toons, cars, and magic.</p><p>And without a doubt, no ifs, ands, or buts about it, Oswald absolutely hated how when he’d first read of the town’s earliest records and founding back in 1939, they had the nerve to initially name it after that arrogant, clumsy, good for nothing—</p><p>“Oswald?”</p><p>“Mickey?”</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. In the Wee Small Hours of the Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The joint had to have at least fifty tables that could seat up to 200 guests, all of them in formal dress − evening gowns, white dinner jackets, striped skirts, Panama hats − at the tables. They looked to be exclusively human, but there were some recognizable Toons like Muttley, Mr. Jinks, and Charlie Dog enjoying themselves hugely.</p><p>A revolving globe, one with a dazzling mirrored surface, tossed around patterns of light and shadow onto dancing legs, locked lips, and bent arms. Penguin waiters tended to gluttons and tipplers, delivering meals ranging from conventional to outlandish, and then hopping over to the bar offering different scopes of sodas, ale brews, mixed cocktails, and ice shots.</p><p>A small band was blaring out “Rock Around the Clock,” though the musicians weren’t the slick, well-fed instrumentalists one would find in Guy Lombardo’s band. They all looked like they’d been through the wringer and so had their threadbare tuxedos. On the stamp-sized dance floor, two shimmering Russian Blue cats in abbreviated costumes performed an oddly-placed but greatly appreciated Madison.</p><p>Buddy let out an impressed whistle and strolled along the pulpy carpet, grinning in muted fascination at the Saturday operation. Never before had he seen such a happenin’ honky-tonk up close. He didn’t know how to behave, all of a sudden. He didn’t know how to keep in his excitement for very long.</p><p>He didn’t know where the heck he was.</p><p>“Pardon me,” Buddy spoke after tapping a smoker’s arm. “This joint’s a real swingin’ hootenanny, huh? Real swell. It’s got a name, don’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah.” The human inhaled from his stick, crouched down, and blew it all out in Buddy’s face. “It’s ‘buzz’ and ‘off,’ ya wheat chucker,” he added over his shoulder.</p><p><em>Guess there’s a lip code that could get me the boot if I say the secret word</em>, Buddy figured, coughing and ruffling the collar of his work shirt to a more casual fold and hiking up his pants.</p><p>The out-of-place Toon tried to ignore the butterfly exhibit suddenly open in his stomach and tipped his hat at the curious and steely stares. He gave a “how do you do” here and an “evening miss” there, strolling down the aisle and wondering if he was the only black-and-white fella in the room. The penguin waiters didn’t count. They had a more vibrant two-shade and Buddy was more…grayed out. A simple 1920s pigment.</p><p>Monochromatic.</p><p>Buddy shook the word out of his head, the laugh he tried pacifying his nerves with sounding a bit strained. He let himself flop onto the closest empty seat with a satisfactory thump and lounged back with a long sigh.</p><p>“Just happy to be giving my feet and rump a break,” he chuckled towards the human at the next table beside his.</p><p>The man had lit a cigarette impassively and nodded, then did a double take at the last body part mentioned. Buddy simply waved. When one of the penguins waddled over, he found the cheapest thing he could get for 10¢ was something called an Iceberg. It sounded funny and was at the very bottom of the menu, but it was better than nothing.</p><p>Buddy’s eyes flicked up to the chorus girls who had switched into a tap dance along the bandstand. A good party had hilarious stories and roaring laughter to share five tables down. Hot water bottles, along with the mention of Southern Comfort and bourbon, were being passed around by the bar. Some of the women were even smoking cigars.</p><p>“Would you look at that…” An astonished chuckle flew out of Buddy’s mouth as he glanced at his table mate. “I always thought cigars were a man’s prized possession, you know?”</p><p>The middle-aged gent, in a tight-fitting black suit and gray spats, hardly regarded him with the same energy going on in the background. “No.”</p><p>“I’ve heard about cigarette girls, but I guess in a place like this they can rest easy. Cigars must be worth their weight in gold. I think Betty Boop worked as a cigarette girl after her big break. You know her?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Neither do I. At least, not personally.” Buddy propped his chin in his hands, smiling at the memories going through his mind. “Ma says Daddy taught Bimbo everything he knows. The dog cut a rug in February, made Betty laugh, and the rest is history.”</p><p>The man knocked back a shot of something bronze. “How would you like to be history, inkblot?”</p><p>“Oh, I dunno. Me?” Buddy waved the proposal away, but gave it a second and even third thought. He knew better, though. “I haven’t seen a cartoon since I was a baby. I wouldn’t be of much help.”</p><p>The man’s eyebrows dipped. “Haven’t you got a television set?”</p><p>The penguin from earlier waddled back to the table and shoved a model ship into Buddy’s hands. Another slapped a captain’s hat over his own, earning a quizzical look. Before Buddy could ask, the sound of a fog horn going off − seemingly on top of him − scared him silly. He instinctively jumped in the air, happened to squish into the human’s arms, and grinned in a silent apology.</p><p>Something clipped the stern of the miniature ship he was still holding, causing it to wobble backwards until the bow stood erect. The watercraft split down the middle and soon fell apart, revealing a tiny glass full of clear liquid and lots of ice.</p><p>“Damn tuxedo copycats.” The man plopped Buddy into his seat and reached for a napkin to wipe his hands. He ordered another drink and bitterly muttered, just loud enough to be heard, “That’s what they call comedy?”</p><p>Buddy, however, could laugh a little once he’d stopped shaking from the initial fright. “Wasn’t that neat? A drink and a magic trick!” He lifted the cup in toast. “Here’s to Toons!”</p><p>But whatever was in the Iceberg was anything but cold.</p><p>No sooner did the drink go down Buddy’s throat than his body shot up half a foot in the air. His entire face blanched, his ears smoked, and his tongue wrung itself out without his say so. He hadn’t even determined the flavor or if he liked, and his body was already rejecting it. He took one more experimental tongue dip after he calmed down and winced.</p><p>“Must be some sensitive Sally.” The human scooped up the hardly touched glass and poured it into his newer one, gulping it with ease. “There isn’t even whiskey in this.”</p><p>Whiskey, ale, rum. Whatever it was had not agreed with him and that was that. Buddy was more than happy to get it off his hands. And off his mind. And off his tongue.</p><p>As he took in a little more of the spunky environment, a quick thought slid into his head that he readily agreed with – <em>Murray and Thomas would definitely like the place.</em> At least for the drinks. Maxwell wasn’t a big drinker. A chummier thought, one that made Buddy grin from ear to ear, popped into mind that once he got the name of the joint, he was definitely going to invite the boys out for a night of fun.</p><p><em>Can’t hurt to ask</em>, the Toon’s conscience piped up. “Say, mister,” he began, tapping his elbow, “I was just wondering if you knew—”</p><p>There was a sudden excited applause as the lights dimmed and then a contagious hush swept over the crowd. A Toon combo made up of fedora-wearing alligators and crows in shades struck up the intro to the smoky song “I Wanna Be Loved by You.” A spotlight burned through the red curtains, exposing a curvy body leaned over and making half the room erupt in whistles and cheers.</p><p>One of the gal’s legs was propped up on what looked to be a leather settee. Her skirt looked to be slightly raised too, and she was humming dreamily as if she wasn’t aware of the bright light in her eyes or the noises in front of her. She reached down, about to remove something small tucked under her garter, and the crowd went nuts as both stockings were peeled off last minute.</p><p>Then, finally, the rest of the body belonging to the sultry shadow emerged.</p><p>A generously endowed humanoid Toon, with hair scorching like a wildfire and million-dollar legs, strutted out. Her figure was testimony to what a guy could do with a pencil and a fertile imagination. She spread out the words to the love song in the style of the Twenties, complete with poop-poop-pa-doop trimmings and velvety demands.</p><p>A Tex Avery-type Toon wolf howled as if it were a full moon. A frog’s tongue rolled out of his head and piled on the floor like a heap full of clothesline. Some of the men were actually panting like dogs in heat.</p><p>Buddy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His face started to shyly burn in an invisible blush the longer he listened, and he rose out of his seat higher and higher.</p><p>“Enjoying the show?” His table mate asked in between puffs of his cigarette.</p><p>Buddy dumbly nodded. “And how…”</p><p>“Not exactly a cheesecake, but she does a sweet tooth justice.”</p><p>Buddy shook his head. The guy was clearly deaf. That foxy windstorm on stage was definitely blowing him away. The longer she belted out, the weaker his knees got.</p><p>“What a steal,” he muttered under his breath.</p><p>The man grinned wide in amusement. “Maybe I judged you too quickly, Toon. You seem to have a good eye for the arts. I can tell.”</p><p>“Have you been to this kind of concert before?”</p><p>The man’s grin became a toothy smirk. “First time, inkblot?”</p><p>Buddy stole a gaze back to the stage. Surrounded by catcalls and hot stage lights, the auburn beauty, like all good music-makers, continued her act undaunted, beautifully humming out, “I couldn’t aspire to anything higher, than to feel the desire to make you my own.”</p><p>The saloon singer’s words were accompanied by a wink and a delicate point of the pinky in Buddy’s direction. His blinking eyes had more mileage than a 1954 Hudson Hornet.</p><p>Buddy poked the man’s elbow again. “Say mister, you think they’d let me go up there?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t bet on it, Smoky. You’d have to be a real somebody to get anything out of that.”</p><p>The man gestured to the entertainer sashaying over to a table of five. She lifted one of the guest’s hat with the tip of her shoe, giving him one hell of a “show” as she bent backwards to teasingly swirl a Toon’s wiry hair into a Dairy Queen.</p><p>“I’m sure I can,” Buddy assured, pointing a thumb at his chest. “Human or Toon, it doesn’t matter. They haven’t seen how I do it.”</p><p>His table mate choked on his drink. “I’d like to see you try!” He spluttered, coughing out a spit-and-booze congested cackle.</p><p>Buddy slicked down his (invisible) eyebrows, patted his own shoulder for self-encouragement, and jumped from behind the table with a determination of a hundred hep cats. The lavender eyes of the tall and dressy gal sparkled like his head just sprouted into a diamond, and the air filled with a fluttering instrumental before the chorus would strike up again.</p><p>Buddy’s eyes were on the prize, though he knew it was going to take an entire miracle in order for him to work up the nerve to ask – let alone take the attractive thing in his hands. The red artist curled a redder strand around one finger and held out her hand to take the small Toon’s hand. Buddy blinked, smiled in acknowledgement, and politely spun her around so she wasn’t in the way of the stairs. Standing on his toes, he peeked over the foundation and waved to the sax player waiting for his specific cue.</p><p>“Hey pal, mind if I cut in?”</p><p>The crow’s eyes grew large and his beak dropped. He looked to the rest of his bandmates, who either shrugged or half-grinned at what had been asked. The black bird gazed down at Buddy, cocked his head, then grinned himself before jerking his head to the side and holding the instrument out.</p><p>“Be my guest, brother!” He crowed.</p><p>Buddy couldn’t get on the stage fast enough. That was easier than he’d thought! He couldn’t believe it. He really couldn’t believe it. Being so close to a real hep band that stayed in the groove all night long gave him goose pimples from his arms to the tips of his toes. But to play in one – even if temporarily – and to take the mouthpiece out of the saxophone and wet the reed as if he’d been doing it for years…</p><p>“<em>Murder!</em> How come we ain’t never picked up someone like him?”</p><p>“He is good, I’ll give ya that.”</p><p>“Slip me a five, kid!”</p><p>Nothing was stopping Buddy from going for a wild ride on the sax or giving a high five to a fellow red-hot jazzman. When he sped up, so did the others. When he got louder, the others got quiet for him. It was the little devil in him; it made him goose up the tempo and fan out some more heat in the room until an entirely new song was playing.</p><p>“All of You.” His song. Her song. Their song.</p><p>And now an audience favorite.</p><p>Those with two left feet or without a care in the world jumped up to tear it down the floor. Drinks were down the hatch as if the folks were celebrating the repeal of Prohibition. Smoke grew thicker, kissers got bolder. Even the gal was a good sport about the song takeover and knew the words by heart to the Porter song. Why shouldn’t she? Buddy had sung it to her hundreds of times before.</p><p>From across the room he made brief eye contact with his table mate and watched the latter lean over to talk with three other Toons. He couldn’t quite make them out, but they scurried off at the wave of a hand. The man looked to Buddy again and gave an impressed nod once the song cooled off. He had to be the first one to applaud, the first one to congratulate him from afar, the first to make him feel like a real musician.</p><p>But he wasn’t the first that he needed to “meet in the back” to speak to in private. Buddy gratefully returned the saxophone and tugged at his collar as he hesitated to walk up to the now closed curtains. He was getting warm for a different reason.</p><p>He hoped Red wasn’t sore at him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. I Get Along Without You Very Well</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At first neither Toon spoke after their name had been said. Both mouse and rabbit simply stared at one another, shoulders absolutely still and mouths sealed shut.</p><p>Oswald was the first to snap back into motion when his teeth began to chew his bottom lip. He sighed out through his nose and glanced off to the side, crossing his arms against a fictional chill. A small but pleased smile appeared on Mickey’s face as he clasped his hands behind him, chuckling inwardly like he was suddenly going all shy after twenty plus years of television exposure.</p><p>“Golly, it sure has been a while,” Mickey said softly.</p><p>Oswald lifted one shoulder then dropped it. The unnerving scratch of a dead-on-arrival conversation was already making his skin crawl, though not as much as Mickey’s arm suddenly draping over his shoulders. The rabbit’s stomach painfully lurched when the mouse took another step forward and held him close. The hug was rigid instead of soft and ended as abruptly as it had begun.</p><p>“I didn’t think we’d be meeting on such a late walk,” Mickey went on. “Kinda lucky for us, huh? Gives us time to catch up and whatnot.”</p><p>Oswald quirked his lips in a stoical grin-and-bear-it attempt to smile. He was in no mood to talk.</p><p>“Well now”—And if the rabbit hadn’t felt uncomfortable before, he sure felt like running off now as Mickey insisted on ‘getting a good look’ at him—“I’d say you haven’t changed a bit. Same button-nose, same sparkling eyes, same round belly,” he added with another chuckle, getting Oswald’s ears to flatten.</p><p>Mickey placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling to show he meant no offense. “Still the same lucky guy,” he finished quietly.</p><p>Another awful beat of silence hung between the two with no rush from either to get the ball rolling again. Oswald narrowed his eyes at Mickey’s hand still on him. He didn’t know if shrugging it off caused Mickey to ask the next question or if he was being a chatterbox, but nonetheless the mouse said to him,</p><p>“Um, care for a walk?”</p><p>Every step down Disneyville felt like Oswald was stepping on broken glass. Walking so close to the big-eared showoff that their elbows were touching made his earlier stomachache return. He could do nothing but cross his arms again, keep moving, and watch as the night owls enjoyed their nocturnal high.</p><p>The large neighborhood was dazzling with lights of all colors, smiles all around, and old jokes. It smelled of crisp garden soil and childhood fabrics with a hint of oak tree wood, Italian coffee, and garden-fresh grass. Oswald supposed such a big town linked to a bigger name just had to have the scent of everything, everywhere, every single day.</p><p>“Gosh, it’s a fine night for a stroll, isn’t it?” Mickey commented, sparing a gaze up to where Oswald was looking. “Nice and quiet, too. I’d love to sleep under the stars one night and forget about all my cares. What about you, Oswald? Wouldn’t that be something?”</p><p>Oswald rolled his eyes at the wishy-washy Disney talk. He had a higher chance of getting struck by lightning than snoozing under shooting stars back in Terry Town County. He could feel Mickey’s stare on him and knew he was waiting for some corny agreement, like, “gosh and golly-gee, that sure would be the cat’s pajamas!”</p><p>And then it happened.</p><p>It was a spur of the moment thing, nothing too out of the ordinary, but certainly hard to swallow. Four boys up ahead, one human and three Toon pups, were shouting the usual “you can’t catch me!” and “you’re too slow!” that accompanied a game of tag. The slowest runner was holding a ball and happened to trip, sending the toy flying.</p><p>Oswald winced, but the ball didn’t hit him or Mickey. In fact, the latter effortlessly caught it and jogged over to the fallen kid, holding out his free hand. With his back to him, Oswald knew that goody two-shoes smile was fat on his face. The boy gasped and started shouting the mouse’s name, prompting his friends to look over and crowd around him to do the same.</p><p>They loved him, they adored him, they wanted to be just like him when they grew up. They promised they would run straight home and be good if they could get one more hug, one more high-five, one more quote from <em>Brave Little Tailor</em>. They were so happy that the one and only Mickey Mouse lived in Disneyville with them.</p><p>Oswald watched from a decent distance as the kids finally waved goodbye and raced down the road, chattering excitedly. Mickey joined his side after a minute of watching them go off safely and pointed a thumb over his shoulder.</p><p>“Aren’t they adorable?” He chuckled out.</p><p>Oswald’s fists stayed firmly by his sides and he spoke, for the first time that night, as if his jaw were wired shut. “Is Minnie home?”</p><p>Mickey did a double take. “Minnie? Well, why would she be out at this hour?”</p><p>“Does she always have to be at your side?”</p><p>“No, not exactly. That just caught me off guard, is all. I only meant that I couldn’t imagine anyone having anything to do past midnight.”</p><p>“You’re up,” Oswald pointed out.</p><p>“So are you,” the mouse laughed back.</p><p>“It wasn’t my idea. Is Minnie home or not?”</p><p>Mickey glanced somewhere up the road, most likely in the direction of their house. “I hope…er, uh, I’d imagine so. Yes. She—”</p><p>Oswald plopped a couple of calligraphy-filled notes into Mickey’s hands, and with a dry ‘thanks’ started retracing his steps for Terry Town County.</p><p>“Um, Oswald? What is this?”</p><p>“Delivery from her secret admirer. How should I know? Some whacko came knocking at our door and said he knew her.”</p><p>As Oswald spoke with his back to the mouse, he made the mistake of turning his head in Mickey’s direction at one point. Out the corner of his eye, he noticed something swirling in Mickey’s eyes as he scanned Lucien’s notes. An expression he didn’t have a name for.</p><p>Oswald fully turned around. “What?”</p><p>“An admirer? Another guy. Oswald, do you think…” Mickey carefully shuffled the papers as if they would cut him. “Do you think Minnie would ever sneak and have an affair?”</p><p>The question was a slap to the face. Oswald knew Minnie and there were plenty of things she was. Classy, cheerful, and feminine. Filled to the brim with love and affection, sweet to nearly everyone she came across. Intelligent and sophisticated, but also stubborn and outspoken.</p><p>But a cheater, she was not.</p><p>“Why would you ask me that?” Oswald all but exploded, feeling everything on his body begin to shake. “Why would you even think of asking me such a thing? This is my sister-in-law we’re talking about, and you’re marking her unfaithful like you’re talking about the weather!”</p><p>Mickey gave a start like he had just woke up from a dream. He glanced down at the notes before folding them in his pocket.</p><p>“Oh…ye-yeah, yeah. Forget what I said, will you? That’s just silly.” His laugh sounded forced and unsure. “I don’t know what got into me just now. Maybe this is what happens when you overwork. All in my head, like a bad dream. Why, just hearing it out loud sounds so silly.”</p><p>“Nothing about that sounds silly!” Oswald shouted. He stomped up to Mickey and poked him in the chest. “That’s one thing I can’t stand about you Disney characters. You have no backbone. Everything has to be sugarcoated. Everything has to be all smiles and rainbows so you won’t actually feel human.”</p><p>A crowd of four to five Toons had slowly stepped away from their own conversations to listen in on the sudden bickering with wide eyes and open mouths. Oswald scowled at their nosiness but didn’t stop.</p><p>“Newsflash Mouse, Toons can act just like humans. We cry, we can get scared, we fall in love. I know your princesses know a lot about that. So how’s that so hard for you to do? Huh? Why does everything in your life have to be so perfect?”</p><p>“I am not perfect,” Mickey rebut, fast and sure of it.</p><p>“The hell you’re not!”</p><p>Three more spectators shuffled into the mix, murmuring and gasping at the language. Oswald whirled around and waved a paw, telling them all to shut up. Mickey hesitated to put a hand to his arm, gently squeezing and trying to pull him backwards.</p><p>“Oswald, come on, you’re making a scene.”</p><p>Anger churned and stewed deep inside, hot as lava and raging like a bull. He was making a scene? Just him? Oswald snapped his eyes up to the silver beam of moonlight stretching toward a window of a nearby home, entering the ridiculously sunshine yellow walls in pristine silence, igniting every perfect and unscratched corner. It wasn’t enough to cast out the darkness that had been residing in his heart longer than he cared to admit.</p><p>The curious crowd kept their eyes on the rabbit and their soft commentary was all about him. Who was this stranger? Was he okay? Why was he so angry with Mickey? No one had a problem with THE Mickey Mouse. Everybody loved Mickey Mouse.</p><p>“I swear, since Day One everything’s been handed to you on a silver platter,” Oswald growled, poking the mouse’s chest again. “You’ve never had to lift a finger, you’ve never had the word ‘no’ said to you. Some Toons can’t catch a break without your name coming up and it’s exhausting.”</p><p>Mickey crossed his arms and raised a brow, making Oswald blurt out a single, booming <em>ha!</em></p><p>“What a comedian. All of a sudden, you wanna look tough and dapper for your fans? Do they know you’re a liar and a thief, too?”</p><p>Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “That makes no sense. What have I ever lied about or stolen from in my entire life?”</p><p>“Everything!”</p><p>Oswald found the darkness inside of him very strange but not unwelcome. He clung all the time to the washed-out memories of a warm adoration and true success when he got to kiss Ortensia and hug his juniors when he heard Ub Iwerks say, right after the cameras cut and he gave the rabbit a great big smile, “I think they’re really going to love ya, Lucky.”</p><p>Tonight was a blackness he couldn’t recall ever feeling inside before.</p><p>By now, fifteen Disneyville residents and about eight others from the neighboring towns had made a clumsy circle around the two, exchanging glances and wondering what in the world was going on. Word spread fast enough to have a couple reporters sprinkled in, standing on their toes and scribbling in their notepads. Oswald still didn’t care and jammed a finger right in Mickey’s face.</p><p>“You…you took Walt from me. You took away the friends I could have made and a home I always dreamed of. I wanted to be…I was supposed to be the face of animation! I had to show everyone I was more than just another…j-just another rabbit. But you shoved me aside,” Oswald blurted out in time to roughly shoving Mickey, “and nobody remembers me because they don’t even know me. Nobody in this crowd knows who I am!”</p><p>The gathering took a cautionary step back as Oswald wildly gestured out towards them. Everyone looked confused, nervous, and a little scared. Someone had the gall to whisper, “Who is this bully?”</p><p>“Bully? Oh, that’s rich.” Oswald whirled around, trying to find the loud mouth. “Not jerk, not jackass, but a bully. I’m just a bully and poor Mickey’s the target, huh?”</p><p>Husbands pulled their wives back and put on a brave face, the reporters’ pens were leaving smoke and track marks on their notepads. Once again Oswald felt Mickey’s hand on him. He would have smacked it off if his head didn’t need both hands to calm the raging storm thundering inside.</p><p>
  <em>Why did I get out of bed? Why did that lightbulb have to come to our house?</em>
</p><p>“Sure everyone, blame me. Blame a Toon you don’t even know, because after twenty years of nothing,” Oswald went on, trying not to choke on the words, “no telephone calls, no letters, and no visits, I guess it’s okay to personally invite your own brother to some stupid theme park in your honor.”</p><p>The muttering returned, only this time it seemed to be about Disneyville’s “nice guy.” Once or twice Oswald caught someone saying Mickey’s name, and in a prickled sense of satisfaction he was glad he looked uncomfortable. His cheeks were mottled crimson, and he remained as still as a cadaver and just as pallid, unblinking in the attention.</p><p>“And I went there. I went to Disneyland.” Oswald shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “I went there and looked for you, but it was a joke. You didn’t want me there.”</p><p>“You came?” Mickey blinked around a bleary-eyed stare, rubbed his arm, and stared down at his feet. “Oswald…that isn’t true. I did want to see you.”</p><p>Oswald smashed his fist into his mouth, sending him crashing to the ground. Tears spilled down his black-furred face. He refused to look away, even as his chin trembled and his shoulders heaved with raw and unrestrained fury. The women screamed, a few ran off to get who knows what, and someone urged a friend to grab the mad rabbit.</p><p>But nobody moved. Nobody dared to touch Oswald. Clear watery snot streaked from Mickey’s flaring nostrils down his splotched skin to his open, bloodied, quivering lips.</p><p>
  <em>A liar and a thief.</em>
</p><p>Then with a barely concealed frown and sniff, Oswald turned on his heels and walked away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. It All Depends on You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Buddy gave his shirt an organized press and pushed his hat further in place as he gave the dressing room a starry-eyed, mouth agape onceover. It was a cool little place; widespread and mahogany paneling all around; cluttered shelves full of garlands, lit candles, and signed gifts from previous shows; and a cushioned divan for any guest. The Toon straightened out his work shirt again and knocked to the beat of “Tennessee Waltz” on his lap, the fidgeting making it up to the small of his cap until the anxious tweak slid it off.</p><p>Like an elegant-worthy costume reveal, Red stepped from behind a wardrobe divider in a drawstring robe. She trailed her hands up her neck, entwining her fingers through an old wrapper drawing her hair back tightly. Bright strands effortlessly fell on her shoulders, the lights from above making them reflect a deep crimson by each curve as she stooped over to place the hat on its owner.</p><p>“Let’s not lose this. It’s part of your charm and makes you look cute as a bug’s ear.”</p><p>Buddy beamed like he was being knighted. “Thanks, doll.”</p><p>“Don’t mention it. Oh, and I am still terribly sorry I didn’t hear you knocking earlier. I was washing up after a long, hot night.” Red sunk into the couch cushions with an exhausted pout. “And it’s still not over yet. I have another four or five shows to do for these night owls. I’m sorry that they never sleep.”</p><p>“Now don’t let ‘sorry’ be the only thing you know how to sing. There’s no harm in working hard. We both do, so we shouldn’t be sorry for making it big.”</p><p>Red smiled and leaned into the friendly kiss on the cheek Buddy offered.</p><p>“Making it big, huh?” She repeated. “Did you win something on one of those wacky radio shows?”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t need some funny guy in a bow tie to make me feel like a winner. I’m makin’ it big on my own. I work double the shift now.”</p><p>Red’s eyes sparkled. “Really?”</p><p>“Sure do! ’Course I’ve known my ol’ bossman for some time now, but this new one’s a swell fella. He’s got a bit of a temper and two hyper tail-waggers, but I think he’s valid to all three. He’s got a peg leg, for Pete’s sake.”</p><p>“Poor man. Did he fight in the war?”</p><p>“Maybe. It could also be an old work injury.” Buddy shrugged and played around with the thought of asking Pete one day how he got his peg leg. “He’s big and looks scary when you first look at him, but he’s a man that means business and that’s somethin’ anybody can admire.”</p><p>Red nodded at every other word or so, then scratched under his chin. “So…<em>two</em> jobs. You’re a working boy.”</p><p>“Yeah! Ain’t I lucky? But enough about me”—Buddy scooted in closer, excitedly leaning on the singer’s leg—“tell me all about what you’ve been up to. How long was your longest show? Any new customers? Did ya do any duets this year?”</p><p>“There’s an unspoken rule that the stage is fit for only one girl, you know.”</p><p>“If it’s built like that, sure, but there’s room for anyone nowadays. You won’t believe what I heard on someone’s radio.”</p><p>“Me?”</p><p>“You’re so silly. But no. This farmer over in Texas has got twelve girls, real nice-sounding gals, and they all took a trip to Cincinnati and the youngest, they said, can wail a note that sounds exactly like Jessica Rabbit—”</p><p>Red dragged her nails down a champagne bottle, sending a violent squeal through the air and into Buddy’s ears. They flattened tight against his head and hesitantly perked up when Red gave another smile and dug around the cork with her French tip.</p><p>“Sh-she…she said she’s been teased an awful lot about her deep voice, but when she sits a certain way and holds her head up high, she sounds like a full-grown woman. Honest,” Buddy wrapped up quickly, holding up his palms.</p><p>The stopper bounced off his nose and hit one of the ash trays on an end table as Red poured herself a hearty helping.</p><p>“I wish you wouldn’t freely say that bimbo’s name in my dressing room. This is <em>my</em> dressing room. Didn’t you see my name on the door? It doesn’t belong to her anymore.”</p><p>“It once did. A gal like that helped a lot of ladies like you strike up the nerve to sing.”</p><p>“Oh?” Red mumbled under her breath and swished around the sparkling wine. “If she’s so helpful, why doesn’t she sing anymore and give men what they really want? Where was she when the Ink and Paint Club flushed?”</p><p>“She…wanted to retire.”</p><p>Buddy didn’t know why his voice hesitated and shook the way it did, and he couldn’t understand why Red found his response so excruciatingly funny. It was true; once Marvin Acme’s will had safely been secured by the Toons, all were free to do whatever they wanted. Mrs. Rabbit had been through a lot back in ’47, and it was a great shock when she announced her retirement from singing.</p><p>Sometimes a movie critic would spot her in a minor film here and there, and the tall cherry bomb would make appearances at charity benefits or bop a quick ditty at a dinner ceremony if the audience requested it enough (which they often did, judging by how she would make front-page news than the actual festivities). Buddy supposed Mrs. Rabbit was too bright of a star to fade quietly into the night. It was 1955, and humans and Toons alike were still thinking about the “Why Don’t You Do It Right” former singer. All Toons, except for Miss Red Hot Riding Hood.</p><p>Red switched her laughter to let out a great, long-suffering sigh and changed swiftly into a first-lady-of-the-theatre manner to utter, “Toons don’t <em>retire</em>, Buddy.”</p><p>“Then what do they do?”</p><p>The fiery redhead plucked out a cigarette from a drawer, took a long drag from it, then with a flourish threw herself in Buddy’s lap. She exhaled just an inch away from his face and stared down at him with a raised brow.</p><p>“Sometimes it’s like you were drawn yesterday with whiteout. I don’t think there’s anything in your head but mindlessly happy-sounding music on a loop, like a record player that won’t shut up. You smile like there isn’t a single storm cloud in your mind. Toons just don’t retire, Buddy.”</p><p>“Then what <em>do</em> they do?” Buddy repeated, more insistently this time. “Come on Red, give me a hint. This doesn’t sound like an easy riddle to solve on my own. If Toons don’t retire, then—”</p><p>A tap on the door stole Red’s attention and beckoned her over to let whoever it was inside right away, much to Buddy’s chagrin. A wolf with the pointiest of chins and most likely money like Rockefeller stood with his chest out. He hooked a cigar between his fangs, impishly eyeing Red’s curves, then gave a start and fumbled to hold the cigar again.</p><p>“Miss Marie Saint, what a pleasure. I didn’t know you were in town. Doing another picture with Marlon Brando?”</p><p>Red laughed and wiggled her fingers as the wolf smooched up her arm. Buddy tilted his head, recognizing the eager beaver as the same wolf that had howled during the show. He thought he looked much better without his tongue dangling and his mustache erect.</p><p>“Last week you mistook me for Jayne Mansfield,” Red snapped but hardly sounded mad. “The week before last, you caught my little number and assumed Mitzi Gaynor and Ethel Merman donated their looks and talents to science to create me. Not that I mind you scattin’ me up a fact.”</p><p>“What can I say? I can spot a beauty a mile away, but it always feels like a little something is missing to complete it. Whaddya say after the show,” the wolf slowly and suddenly proposed, his big eyes roaming more exposed skin, “you and me go steppin’?”</p><p>Red’s cheeks were coated with a ripe vermillion, but her grin was sunny and childlike. “Oh, you!”</p><p>“You’re not really goin’ with him, are you, Red?”</p><p>The couple almost did a double take at Buddy speaking up. His and the wolf’s eyes met soon afterward, and the former cautiously looked up and down at the tree-tall guest. Custom made tuxedo, heeled shoes, a large and boasting lapel pin. Buddy unconsciously dipped his hat, a strange feeling numbing his toes.</p><p>The cigar returned in between the wolf’s teeth as he stepped forward in three large steps, huffing out an unhealthy black color in Buddy’s face. “And if she is,” he growled, “that won’t be a problem.”</p><p>Buddy knew enough about Toon wolves from many cartoons and comics growing up. No matter their age of creation, they were always pedaling up to be the best “Big Bad Wolf” in town to impress the ladies and scare them away from their daddies. Buddy took in a breath and stood as tall as his short height would allow.</p><p>“I can’t say I like hearing that.”</p><p>The wolf cackled and swatted his paw in the air. “Mind? Who’re you? Her Pops or somethin’?”</p><p>“I’m a good friend of hers, so I think we should play nice before she gets mad.”</p><p>“A good friend, huh?” The canine spit something in his palm and snatched up Buddy’s hand. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize she was entertaining one of them dwarfs from that Snow White picture. Pleased to meet ya, Dingus. Big fan, and hey – your princess ain’t that bad of a looker.”</p><p>Buddy’s eyes rattled around his head from the rough handshake. His hand still shook even after it was let go and didn’t settle down as he gripped it tight.</p><p>“It’s Dopey, and that’s not me. I’m Buddy.”</p><p>“You’re adorable, that’s what you are. A regular Boy Scout, a dear, a little ol’ monochrome drone.”</p><p>The wolf brought Buddy in for a bone crushing hug that lasted two seconds, then immediately pushed him aside to zip over to the couch as Red spread out to smoke more comfortably.</p><p>“How’s about it, Red? You and me, after the show. I got a bottle of gin stashed away you-know-where and some Bing Crosby records. We could stay out until four in the morning and really tear this town up.”</p><p>He was kissing up and down her arm again, but Red never took her attention from her cigarette. The fanged feral was persistent and suggested more of what they could do once it was just the two of them, pausing once to inhale the lighter smoke escaping from pert, crimson lips. Buddy clasped his hands behind him, glancing from Red to her fuzzy guest. If it was thoroughly written out for him, he didn’t think he could understand what had just happened in the last five minutes. The late evening had juggled so many reactions and shuffled around so many one-sided subjects that even the headache rising inside Buddy was puzzled and felt impolite on intruding.</p><p>“You’re goin’ with him tonight, Red?”</p><p>This time when Buddy spoke, no one acted like it was a surprise that he was in the room. Red offered a prim smile and daintily took a puff from the white stick, sputtering out tiny hearts.</p><p>“It won’t be bad if I do, right Buddy? After all, it is nice for a girl to have someone cheering for her, and you haven’t been coming to my shows as much. You said it yourself; you’re a working boy and too busy listening to radios for Jessica Rabbit imitators.”</p><p>Buddy’s ears drooped as if the words had physically snipped them. The smirk and cackle the wolf aimed his way didn’t make him feel any better, either.</p><p>“I wish I could come to your shows more often,” he admitted softly, and something went off in his heart as Red’s focus tilted over to the wolf’s by the latter’s gentle claw. He still went on. “I’d bring you flowers every day and give you a kiss for good luck, because you deserve those little things to make you happy.”</p><p>Buddy tipped his hat towards the couple when they finally acknowledged him with narrowed eyes. “If you are going out doll, I’m okay now ‘cause I wanted to hear <em>you</em> say you’re okay with it.”</p><p>He wished them both a good time and left the dressing room. It was easier finding the main performance hall, mainly due to the scat men and musicians going at it on stage, but the strange thing was that Buddy’s headache had returned to wedge itself in his ears. He could barely hear the instruments or the men and women laughing, squealing, and tapping their heels while doing the Jitterbug. He plopped down beside the band, and none of the players or partiers seemed to mind him moping in the heart of a real jivin’ dive.</p><p>“What’s the problem, Daddy-O?” One of the crows asked, sparing a glance away from his drums. “I thought this was a nice place for you.”</p><p>“Must not have been so hot with Red. Am I right?” Another of the crows guessed in between blowing through his clarinet reed.</p><p>Buddy shrugged. “We did talk, but it was like we talked in hymns. Some of them didn’t make a lick of sense comin’ from her.”</p><p>The bass player snorted. “A woman who’ll confuse you has to be the most frustratingly beautiful creature right outta Toontown. The more she doesn’t make sense, the longer you’ll chase after her.”</p><p>“’Fraid I can’t do the runnin’ anymore, fellas. My folks don’t even know I’m here, and if my Ma ever found out…” Buddy shuddered and hugged himself.</p><p>A gator chuckled, all in good mirth. “You got a strict lady of the house?”</p><p>“Not strict, just caring. She loves me, and my daddy, and our dog, but she sure doesn’t like the sound of Red.”</p><p>“Not her kinda taste in music?” The tenor sax asked.</p><p>“Boy, you can say that again.” Buddy smiled down at his shoes and allowed a chuckle. “Everyone’s got their own opinion about a lady, and my Ma’s the kind to really have a couple say-so’s up her sleeve. She’s nice and gives you a chance to show, not tell, but—”</p><p>The musicians jeered like a flock of schoolboys, laughing to themselves and slapping a high-five if they could.</p><p>“Our Red will show, all right!”</p><p>“Can’t imagine that family reunion goin’ sweet.”</p><p>“Sorry to hear, pal.”</p><p>Buddy took the comments and light pats on the shoulders without question, knowing the band could only offer so much without lousing up the beat. He smiled in gratitude and was just getting ready to thank them all for bringing up his spirits when he spotted his table mate from earlier getting ready to leave. Buddy excused himself and bundled after the man, calling out to him above the loud environment and waving an arm.</p><p>“Say, wait up! Mister, hold on a minute!”</p><p>The man turned slow, but his eyebrows flew up. “Well, I’ll be,” he muttered jokingly, then a little louder, “if it isn’t the little musician. I really liked your stuff up there, kid. You weren’t half bad.”</p><p>Buddy’s dimples twinkled in 0.5 seconds. “Gee, thanks! That’s the first time I’ve ever played.”</p><p>“No kiddin’?”</p><p>“I swear it. It’s the first time I’ve ever played, and in front of a crowd, no less. But I loved it! It felt right.”</p><p>“Fit snug like a glove?” The man shook hands, nice and professional, and winked. “What did you say your name was?”</p><p>“Oh, I never gave it to you, but it’s Buddy. Who’s asking?”</p><p>“Someone who definitely wouldn’t mind your sense of style on his team.”</p><p>Buddy watched in slight apprehension as the man fumbled around his pockets before making a noise of realization and removing something from his breast pocket. He scanned over the stenciled words on a lemon-yellow card, making out two phone numbers and an address somewhere in Toontown. In the corner was the smallest seal of approval he had ever seen (or could barely see), but everything looked to be like how the man’s handshake felt: nice and professional.</p><p>“I don’t do this for every boy or Toon who plays, so consider yourself lucky, inkblot,” the man said. “But don’t over celebrate. You got it?”</p><p>Buddy was still studying over the credentials and running his thumbs over the sleek plastic of something so plain but strong. He made out a few of the man’s words lingering in the air, twitching his ear to hear more, though only caught the sharp clicks of his shoes heading off.</p><p>“W-wait a minute, Mister! I didn’t catch your name.”</p><p>“I figured the face would give it away.” The man grabbed his coat, his hat, and with a glint in his eye practically sang out, “Sinatra, kid. Frank Sinatra.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. On The Town</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey kid, your old man should be a boxer.”</p><p>“Ah?”</p><p>“Yeah. If he’s got the nerve to pop someone in the mouth, what’s stopping him from going pro?”</p><p>Oswald snatched up his son and stalked down the main crosswalk, sparing a single gaze behind to make sure fourteen more blue tufts of fur were bouncing after him. His baby kicked his feet and noisily protested in his own gibberish how he was fit to walk on his own. After a moment’s hesitation, Oswald complied and watched the bunny hop around his older siblings before latching onto one of their ears.</p><p>“Just once I’d like you guys to listen to me,” the older rabbit scolded. “I don’t want you running off and talking to strangers.”</p><p>Terry Town didn’t have as nearly a high population as Toontown, but with the recent snow in by the daily paper, preprinted opinion sections in the tabloids, and bolder horoscopes on Toon monthlies − a phenomena many hadn’t seen since the early Thirties − there had been an unhealthy surplus of humans flocking to the quiet and friendly district. The TT adults couldn’t run errands undisturbed without being whispered about, and the children couldn’t play outdoors in peace without getting asked for directions.</p><p>Directions to a certain black rabbit.</p><p>Oswald had been avoiding his town like the plague. He and Ortensia had no reason to go out the previous Sunday, and the bunny children were content with the backyard and their toys. Monday and Tuesday, though, hadn’t been so hot; twice Oswald had overslept and each time the juniors had made a mess of the newspaper trying to find the Funnies. Both days he walked in on Ortensia scolding them or telling them to clean up, and each time he just about panicked whenever he caught sight of a new headline just inches from their line of sight.</p><p>Just that morning Oswald had been able to trash certain pages from the Wednesday paper before he brought it inside, and he had guarded the telephone and television like a hawk all morning in case one of Ortensia’s girlfriends called for gossip or a news program interrupted his children’s cartoons. It was draining. He had never felt so exhausted.</p><p>“My, aren’t you a cutie! Where’s your daddy?”</p><p>“Ah?”</p><p><em>Here we go again</em>, Oswald thought with a groan. Like before, he stomped over to his runaway son, but this time he swatted his backside a couple times and held him tight as he started whining and thrashing. The swan he’d been talking to stepped away, her smile flipping upside down and her wings clutching her purse. By her open mouth and wide eyes, she knew exactly whose daddy had come to collect him.</p><p>“What?” Oswald snapped. “What lady? What are you staring at?”</p><p>“You…you’re that brute from Disneyville! Saturday night, it was you! I saw you!”</p><p>Her pitchy squeals were doing a number on Oswald’s ears, and with a grumbled “aw geeze” under his breath, he remembered hearing such a voice screaming after he had thrown that punch. The tiny Oswald junior stopped his wailing to be put down and looked from his father to the woman in teary confusion. Her partner instantly popped into view, holding a wing in front of her and glaring down at the rabbit.</p><p>“Now let’s not start any fights today, pal,” he warned.</p><p>Oswald gave a single, incredulous blink. “In broad daylight? With my kids around? Are you crazy?”</p><p>“Boy, if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”</p><p>Oswald turned on his heel and rounded up the kids in the direction of a shortcut home, ignoring their curious tugging at his shorts and keeping his focus ahead when they started asking him things like, “what’s a brute,” “are you getting in a fight,” “did he call you a kettle,” “what about Disneyville.”</p><p>And then an excited shout broke the chain.</p><p>“Dad, it’s Uncle Mickey!”</p><p>Oswald’s heart seized up so fast he was surprised he didn’t drop dead. His head whipped around and he spotted some of his kids clambering up a magazine rack outside of the supermarket. In his haste to pry them off, he saw one of many gross headlines that snagged a Toon glove to the pages like a baited hook to a sunfish.</p><p>
  <strong>RUDE OR SCREWED? ‘REMEET’ MICKEY MOUSE’S MAIN RIVAL</strong>
</p><p>Oswald’s jaw dropped. The mouse was perfectly ingrained in a white circle on the left side, no blood or bruise on his grinning mouth so clearly it was an old photo, and in the crisp leading snapshot was Mickey again − caught falling midair, looking completely “innocent” and “caught off guard” as Oswald towered above him, “face twisted aggressively” and arm bent from a hit of “syringed envy”. He counted twenty-three copies on the shelves and did a double take at over eighty more issues, stacked and tied on top of each other, as a cow in overalls wheeled them inside the store.</p><p>“Oh boy,” Oswald muttered. He watched him interact with a burly man behind the counter, then flinched when the man eventually blinked up to the window and tapped the cow’s arm. “Oh boy…”</p><p>Oswald grabbed as many of his boys he could and gestured with his foot for the rest to follow. The juniors mistook it for a game and grabbed a hold of it, twisting and pulling so it could pop off.</p><p>“Ow! Guys, come on! It’s not playtime, it’s we’re-going-home time. Now. Come on!”</p><p>“Oswald?”</p><p>The rabbit glanced up and faked a smile. “Oh, uh, hey Hal. How’s business?”</p><p>“Booming, all for the wrong reasons.” The grocer’s bushy eyebrows dipped down as his shadow covered half of the rabbit. “How come your name is in the papers now?”</p><p>“Publicity.” Oswald yelped as one of the boys impatiently yanked off his foot and sent him crashing into the magazine rack. “All for the wrong reasons,” he added above his children’s laughter.</p><p>Hal either chuckled with them or huffed under his breath at the mess they had made. He folded his hairy arms across his apron, briefly nodding down at the few boys hopping for attention, and shook his head.</p><p>“This ain’t good. Not good at all,” he said disappointedly. “I get not being a fan of his pictures or finding his voice annoying, but you didn’t have to go and hurt the guy.”</p><p>“I didn’t even hit him that hard.”</p><p>“That’s not what the papers are saying.”</p><p>Oswald rolled his eyes. It honestly wasn’t surprising how so many had jumped at declaring him the town bully or the villain of the story. It didn’t even surprise him how fast the evening fight had spread to other neighborhoods. Toon reporters were by far the worst when it came to handing out news. By nature, they were wacky, dramatic and fun-filled, so they just had to include all sorts of descriptions to make their readers cry out in shock or laugh until they needed stitches. Toons wrote how they performed − all over the place.</p><p>Still on the ground and failing to nab one of his kids, Oswald looked around at the fallen magazines. Seven were face up to show the cover of him and Mickey all over again. To show him how badly his temper had flared and how badly the mouse had gotten hurt because of him. Had it been any other Toon, Oswald wouldn’t have judged so quickly. At the very most he would have been frightened by the behavior, but if something or someone had provoked it, he deserved to know and not be gorged by exaggerated witness claims.</p><p>
  <em>“He was terrifying! A complete menace in Disneyville!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’ve never seen a temper on anything meant to be so cute. I think even a bull would take a step back.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He should be ashamed. That tyrant should be ashamed of himself!”</em>
</p><p>Oswald blinked hard, sadly realizing he’d been pawing through the coverage of the huge showdown for a moment too long. He threw the magazine aside and glared at the sidewalk.</p><p>“Hal, you think there’s hope for me?”</p><p>Hal shrugged. “Can’t say yea or nay.”</p><p>“Figured I’d ask.”</p><p>“Figured I’d answer.” Hal roughly ruffled the rabbit’s head, then cocked a thumb over his shoulder as he headed inside. “If it makes a difference, I’ll cancel these magazine orders. Never liked them stinkin’ up the place, anyhow.”</p><p>Oswald shook his head. “I wouldn’t feel right if you did. Just keep doing business like you do. I’ll be fine.”</p><p>Beneath the man’s bushy mustache, Oswald was sure he saw a frown. He didn’t have time to wonder, though, as something whacked his nose and zipped back over to the right. With another eye roll, he used one of his ears like a hand to swipe his stolen limb midair.</p><p>“Didn’t I say we were going home?” He reattached his foot, ignoring the groans and pouts. “Now clean up these magazines and march those stubby little feet behind me when I say so. Anyone who wants to complain is getting a spanking and no dessert tonight.”</p><p>It was like saying Davey Crockett was on; the bunnies scrambled to clean and even went so far as to polish and organize some of the fruit stands. Oswald crossed his arms, and when he was sure none of the boys were looking, swiped a magazine. He wanted to see what these Toons really thought of their own kind.</p><p>
  <strong>RUDE OR SCREWED? ‘REMEET’ MICKEY MOUSE’S MAIN RIVAL</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Uncensored and fictionalized as we are, Toons have had the success of television to thank when it comes to naming what has entertained a generation of children since we soldiered through a postwar peak in 1945. But the real Disney is not every bit as wholesome as the cinematic one. The oh-so-wholesome image was flipped upside down this past Saturday night, July 23, between 11:47 p.m. and 12:15 a.m. when a nasty custody-like battle for Walt Disney cried for attention. The culprit, a Toon rabbit heard by several to go by the name of Oswald, was seen stripping away layer upon layer of strong, solid, and magical integrity of Disney’s very own mascot, Mickey Mouse. An approximate 30 Disneyville residents, as well as up to 15 wanderers from as far as Toontown, witnessed a drama fit for the silver screens and a scuffle that could make front-page in the Fights. The grown rabbit would stop at nothing to disturb the peace, from belated excuses of an invitation to Disneyland to putting the finger of blame on his lacking friendship club on Mister Mouse himself.</em>
</p><p>Sweat formed around the already glossy magazine as Oswald’s eye twitched. He had half a mind to tear the entire thing straight down the middle and spit on it, but the attention that would earn didn’t sit too well. His head was starting to ache and he could feel his throat choking on a curse.</p><p>“Dad. Dad? Ozzie ran off again.”</p><p>“Is he sleeping with his eyes open?”</p><p>“Dad…!”</p><p>“Ozzie’s gonna get hit by a car.”</p><p>That very curse flew out of Oswald’s mouth as he wildly did a headcount and discovered that yes, the baby was missing from the group yet again and yes, he was in the middle of the busy street. He was curled in on himself, safe from the passing automobiles, but he was squealing. Oswald rushed forward without hesitation, and when he made eye contact with his son, he held up a paw for him to stay put. His body felt like Silly Putty the way he dodged and jumped from the impatient drivers, and his legs were shaking uncontrollably as he dove under a four-wheeler and pushed his little junior under his chest. One of the wheels smacked him in the rump, but Oswald was grateful it hadn’t flattened his son.</p><p>He hurried to the sidewalk, kicking himself for spacing out and shouting at his remaining group of kids to stay where they were, but of course they didn’t listen and hopped on and over more passing cars. Some of them swerved, honked, and braked fast at the incoming bunny invasion, but thankfully nobody got hurt.</p><p>“Oh, for the love of…” Oswald breathed out a trembling sigh and hugged his baby tight. “Don’t you ever do a dumb bunny thing like that again! Are you okay, sport? Wait until your mother hears about this! No, we’re not going to tell her. She’s got enough worries on her plate. Well? What have you got to say, young man?”</p><p>Oswald Junior the 15th blinked twice, his eyes wet and his ears flat. Oswald set him down in front of him and tapped his foot, waiting on an explanation when a dominating bark made him jump. A bulky bulldog instantaneously tore down the avenue, its leash flapping in the air. The children cleared a path in time, but Oswald wasn’t so lucky. The leash’s handle snagged his foot and took him along for a less than joyful joyride past lampposts, sidewalk walkers, moving men, and fire hydrants.</p><p>
  <em>As if the day needed any more excitement!</em>
</p><p>“Heel! Stop! You crazy dog, what’s the matter with you?”</p><p>Nothing Oswald shouted pleased the hyper dog. He managed to free himself and grab the leash, but he was no match for fifty-two pounds of muscle. The dog kept running even as the rabbit’s heels dug into the pavement, barking louder and racing past unsuspecting couples. Right around the bend, a dog walker intercepted the mutt and ended its footrace by throwing himself at the slobbering missile. Oswald, the bulldog, the dog walker, and his own pooch clashed into a messy Toon ball, tumbling further through town for a hot second before crashing to a stop.</p><p>Oswald was the first to separate from the insanity and glared at the irresponsible dog owner. “You need to keep that thing under control! What if he had hurt somebody?”</p><p>The colorless Toon slid his hat from out of his eyes and clumsily wrapped the leash around his wrist as the bulldog started growling. The second dog sounded like he was laughing at his companion for getting in trouble.</p><p>“I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“Get a better lease or someone’s going to be calling animal control,” Oswald continued to snap, then his temper abruptly paused as he gave the boy a slow sideways glance. “Wait, you can talk?”</p><p>Any prepared answer was interrupted by the bulldog’s returning antics. The animal pulled the boy and the other dog down the street, chasing after a stray cat that seemed thrilled to be getting any attention at all. Oswald watched, stupefied whenever the Toon got caught on something and magically bounced back to his shape. He didn’t look like he belonged to Terry Town but he couldn’t have been from Fantasmagorie County, either. What Toon from 1908 was ever that colorful and could speak actual words rather than grunts and squeaks?</p><p>Oswald jumped at a tapping on his foot. His boys were the one to catch up with him this time and were obediently lining up at his sides. Oswald Junior the 15th held up his arms, and after a pat on the head, his father scooped him up and turned to get back on the correct path.</p><p>Still, the very thought of having seen that black-and-white Toon someplace before troubled Oswald all the way home.</p>
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